


Through the Midnight Streets

by strange_seas



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life, ballet!au, fosterfamily!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 03:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17134175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strange_seas/pseuds/strange_seas
Summary: The trouble with first love is that it always feels like the last.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal on October 17, 2014. Title taken from Lorde's ["Ribs."](https://open.spotify.com/track/0TEekvXTomKt3hdXDZxxeW) Give it a listen when you read this, and you'll understand why.

_Paris, present day_  
  
The air in the park is crisp; a change from the warm, pre-summer waft that fills Jongin's flat every afternoon. The wind rifles through his bangs as he walks through the Tuileries. He pushes the hair off his forehead and puts his cap on backwards, the way he always does. Joonmyun says it makes him look like a kid ("Not that twenty-two doesn't count as a kid," the older man tacks on with a grin).  
  
There he is, Joonmyun, in their usual spot by the Grand Bassin Octagonal. All business in a silk suit, two small coffees in hand. At Jongin's approach, he flashes a set of square white teeth. It comforts Jongin in a way, knowing that some things, like the shape of his friend's smile, never change.  
  
"Hey, you," Joonmyun says, raising both coffees in greeting. He jerks his head towards the unoccupied lawn chair beside him. "Saved you a spot."  
  
Jongin takes a cup and plops right down. "Thanks, hyung. Nice day, huh?" He gazes out into the Grand Bassin, enjoying the sound of the fountain spray hitting the placid surface of the water, and the soft warmth of the sun on the backs of his hands.  
  
"You said it." Joonmyun takes a sip. "All done with finals?"  
  
"All done." Jongin grins as he looks over, and Joonmyun is beaming. "I'm graduating in a week! Can you believe it?"  
  
"Of course," his companion says automatically. His free hand comes to rest between Jongin's shoulder blades; a reassurance. "You've worked so hard these past four years. I'm really proud of you."  
  
Jongin leans in so their arms bump. "Such a dad. But thanks."  
  
He doesn't need to say anything else--Joonmyun is well-aware of how he expresses affection through proximity. They've known each other a long time, before Paris, all the way back to the tree-lined neighborhood in Seoul where they first met. Jongin would even hazard to say that Joonmyun is his closest confidante, the person he likes best in the entire world, were it not for...  
  
"Is the whole family coming to see you graduate?" Joonmyun leans back into his chair. A cluster of children flit past behind them, babbling in high-pitched, rapid-fire French.  
  
"Yes," Jongin murmurs. He chuckles when Joonmyun makes a confused old-man face, like he can't hear over the ruckus. " _Yes_ , hyung, they're coming."  
  
"Parents, the girls, Seungsoo, and..."  
  
"Yes," Jongin licks his lips. "Ahjussi and Ahjumma are coming. So are Ji-noona and Mi-noona and Seungsoo-hyung. And..."  
  
There it is. Right on schedule. The twinge.  
  
"Kyungsoo, too."  
  
Jongin ends it there. He nibbles on the rim of his cup to keep his mouth occupied.  
  
"Ah," Joonmyun says in a voice laden with meaning. "So it  _is_ everybody."  
  
"You're coming, too, aren't you?" Jongin shifts gears, bumping their shoulders again and knowing full well that Joonmyun can see right through him.  
  
"If you've got space for me in your fan club," Joonmyun quips easily, "then I'll be there." He smiles. "Before I know it, you'll be a principal in some world-famous dance company, and you won't have time to spare for your aging neighbor-hyung."  
  
"Quit it." Jongin smiles back. He's glad Joonmyun isn't pushing--but really, he never does. "You're only twenty-eight."  
  
Joonmyun snorts, shaking his head. "And you're twenty-two. It's still strange for me, to think you're of legal drinking age."  
  
"I was twelve when you met me," Jongin muses, and he remembers the wide, smooth driveway of Joonymun's house, where he and Joonymun and Kyungsoo used to sit on Sundays. "I think you'll always see me as a kid."  
  
The fountain splashes placidly in Jongin's ears. In the periphery, he sees bright green leaves rustling in their branches, marble sculptures of nymphs and deities soaking in light. It's the halfway point between spring and summer, and  _this_ , he thinks, is when Paris is most beautiful. Jongin's been coming to sit here, in the middle of this park, since he enrolled at the Conservatoire. Now, five days to his commencement ceremony, he realizes this is going to be one of his last visits before heading home. It's already got him in the throes of nostalgia. He takes an extra-long sip of coffee to swallow the sensation down.  
  
"Not always."  
  
Jongin blinks hazily, watching a woman in a linen dress walking her glossy black lab. "Hmm, hyung?"  
  
"Not always," Joonmyun murmurs again, smiling briefly before he shrugs and looks back out at the grand fountain. "I know you're not a kid anymore, Jongin."  
  
There is a delicate shift in the air, and Jongin flinches imperceptibly.  _Oh, no,_  he thinks to himself.  _Not this again._ He glances at Joonmyun to gauge his expression--unreadable, as usual, when he lets things like that slip. Hesitantly, Jongin hums in response, debating on whether or not he should say something witty or just laugh it off. In the end, he settles for silence.  
  
They observe the people shuttling back and forth, draining their coffees to the last lukewarm drop. Jongin tries not to exacerbate his discomfort by wondering what Joonmyun is thinking and not saying.  
  
"You hungry?" the elder asks in time. His tone is less caressing than it was before, more conversational, and therefore, relatively harmless. He elbows Jongin in the side. "You want steak for lunch?"  
  
Inwardly, Jongin breathes a sigh of relief. "Yeah, okay," is what he says. Then he pulls off his cap and places it over Joonmyun's perfectly-styled hair in a gesture of brotherhood. It's backwards, of course, and sticks out like a sore thumb against the sleekness of Joonmyun's expensive business attire.  
  
The latter doesn't seem to mind. He tugs the bill of the snapback down firmly and smooths the edge of his fringe where it peeks out in the front. "Does this make me look cool?"  
  
"Sure," Jongin acquiesces.  
  
Joonmyun stands, brushing off his jacket before taking Jongin's empty cup. "I bet if we asked Kyungsoo, he'd have something different to say." His voice is light, but his smile astute.  
  
"He always does," Jongin replies breezily. That's enough talk of Kyungsoo for today. It's more than they've had in the past two months. He gets up, too, raking a hand through his hair to scrunch the flatness out of it. "Shall we?"  
  
Joonmyun nods. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Lunch is on me, by the way."  
  
"No, Jongin--"  
  
" _Yes,_  hyung!"  
  
And Jongin breaks into a run, free as a colt. He looks over his shoulder and takes in the sight of Joonmyun attempting to keep up, one hand on his crown to fix Jongin's hat in place. Amusement and incredulity dance across his face; still so boyish, and so familiar.  
  
"Jongin-ah!" he calls. "Wait for me!"  
  
It would be endearing, really, were it not for the memory of Kyungsoo doing the same, so many years ago, when they were young boys without a care in the world, and Jongin knew nothing of heartache.  
  
He looks ahead and away, and runs a little faster.  
  
  
  
  
 _Seoul, once upon a time_  
  
Jongin's mother is the live-in housekeeper of a wealthy family. She starts working for the Dos soon after she gives birth to a healthy baby boy. Jongin's father was never in the picture, and his grandparents were long-dead before he was born. Ever since he can remember, Jongin has lived in the manicured estate behind the great brass gates in the quietest part of Gangnam, with his mother and Butler Song and Chauffeur Lee and Chef Park and the two maid-noonas and the six members of the Do family.  
  
Do Ahjussi is formidable in height but benevolent at heart, with deep creases in the corners of his eyes that Jongin likes. Do Ahjumma is petite and elegant, her hands like silk when she strokes Jongin on the cheek. They have four children. Seungsoo-hyung is the eldest, a perfect gentleman groomed to take over their publishing company. Soo Ji and Soo Mi, the twin sisters, look exactly like their mother, except Ji-noona dyes her hair red, and Mi-noona dyes hers blond. Kyungsoo, the youngest, is Jongin's age. From the get-go, they are lumped together as playmates.  
  
The Dos are nothing like the rich people on television, with their bone-chilling condescension, underhanded dealings, and high fashion housewear. They are kind, honest, hard-working people, who have raised loyal, open-minded children. At home, they wear regular house clothes--faded, with holes in the armpits.  
  
Jongin, his mother, and the rest of the staff reside in a sizeable annex to the mansion. Ahjumma comes knocking in the afternoons, when Kyungsoo is back from his private elementary school. Jongin gets home an hour earlier from a much less expensive institution, paid for in full and with pride by his mother. Ahjumma always asks if Jongin would like to do their homework together, in the main house. Because, in her words, Jongin is so very sweet and patient, and taciturn Kyungsoo could use the company.  
  
Growing up, Jongin has always known Kyungsoo to be the least warm of the Do children. Not because he is mean-spirited in any way, but because he is withdrawn, and at times, aloof. Seungsoo-hyung always hoists Jongin onto his shoulders, and the noonas pull him into their laps to pepper him with kisses. But perhaps, since he and Kyungsoo are the same age, Kyungsoo doesn't show him the same kind of affection.  
  
He does let Jongin sit next to him when he's practicing his piano drills, because Jongin loves music, and Kyungsoo knows this. He also permits Jongin to borrow his crayons, and gives him the bigger part of the cookie when there's only one left on their snack platter to halve. Sometimes, when Jongin is reading a book (the best kind, with illustrations), Kyungsoo will sidle up to him without warning and read silently over his shoulder.  
  
Jongin thinks they're great friends.  
  
  
  
  
When Jongin is nine, his mother is hit by a speeding taxi as she crosses the street from the supermarket to the sidewalk where Chauffeur Lee is waiting for her. She is killed on impact.  
  
It is Seungsoo who breaks the news to Jongin, in the south lawn, where he and Kyungsoo are picking the weeds out of Chef Park's tomato garden.  
  
Jongin's entire body goes rigid, as if it's been injected with shards of ice. He feels cold all over, but he doesn't cry, not even when Seungsoo envelops him in a hug and tells him how sorry he is. The twins aren't home from music class yet, but Jongin can hear the sound of women crying in the house. It's Chef Park and the two young maids, shocked into instant grief.  
  
Ahjussi and Ahjumma take care of all the arrangements. They purchase a plot for Jongin's mother in a cemetery for wealthy, well-loved people, and they cover the entire mound in white lilies after the ceremony.  
  
Ahjumma cries like she's lost a precious friend.  
  
Ahjussi tells Jongin he is going live with them in the main house from now on, and that they're going to take care of him.  
  
The older children whisper words of encouragement, and Jongin lets himself be held.  
  
Kyungsoo doesn't say a word. Not one. He only slips his little hand into Jongin's and squeezes hard, as though he will never let go.  _That_ is when Jongin cries.  
  
  
  
  
Ahjussi and Ahjumma sue the taxi company. Months later, the hefty sum they are awarded in court is placed into a trust for Jongin.  
  
"This is for when you grow up," Ahjussi explains in his deep, storybook voice. "It will never replace your dear mother, who served us so well--but we believe it will give her peace, knowing you have this for yourself."  
  
"Oh," Jongin says, feeling stiff and afraid. "This is for when you can't take care of me anymore?"  
  
"No, my darling," Ahjumma assures him. "We will always take care of you. Even when you're all grown up and don't need taking care of. That's what parents do."  
  
"We're your family now," Ahjussi says, and he places his broad hand on one of Jongin's small shoulders. "Remember?"  
  
"Thank you, Ahjussi," Jongin murmurs, minding his manners like his mother always taught him to. "Thank you, Ahjumma."  
  
In a gentle tone, Ahjumma says, "You can call me mom, if you like." She smooths back Jongin's hair, the way she has every night since his mother died, before tucking him into bed.  
  
His reply is so meek. "But I already have a mom..."  
  
And Ahjumma wraps him up in her soft, pale arms so he can hide his tears in her neck.  
  
  
  
  
Ballet comes into Jongin's life not long after, and completely by accident.  
  
One day, Ahjumma takes him and Kyungsoo to pick up the twins from music school, so they can all go out for dinner with Ahjussi afterwards.  
  
"Have a look around when we get there," Ahjumma says to Jongin, leaning forward to pat his little knee. "You can have music lessons, too, if you like."  
  
They've got Kyungsoo sitting between them in the backseat of the car. He regards Jongin with interest.  
  
"I like piano," Jongin answers shyly, encouraged by Ahjumma's kind expression. "But mostly I just like listening to it when Kyungsoo plays."  
  
"Ah," she says, and her face is full of affection. "Then you just let me know."  
  
The car stops at a red light. Jongin lets his eyes drift, focusing on nothing in particular.  
  
There is a small dance studio at street-level, with a large glass window. He sees a man lift a woman into the air, her limbs extended in a way that makes Jongin hold his breath. Fluidly, like she weighs no more than an armful of satin, the man places the woman back on the ground. Their hands lace, and their necks bow, and the top few notches of their spines become visible in the convex curves of their backs. Then the man draws away, and he  _leaps_ into the air. It's an impeccable  _grand jeté_  that seems to last forever--and Jongin sees it twice at once, because of the wall-to-wall mirror in the studio. That's when he knows.  
  
"How about that?" he whispers, shaking Kyungsoo's thigh with an urgent hand. "Do you think I could do that?"  
  
Kyungsoo perches his chin on Jongin's shoulder to see. "Of course," he whispers back. "You're Jongin. You can do anything you want."  
  
They watch the couple dance together in silence, until the car starts moving again, and Ahjumma asks them what they're so preoccupied with.  
  
  
  
  
 _Paris, present day_  
  
Jongin has just polished off a juicy rib-eye when Joonmyun asks if he'd like dessert.  
  
"Definitely, hyung," he replies through a sip of lemon water. "I'm paying, remember?"  
  
Clearly, Joonmyun hadn't been taking him seriously earlier. "Jongin-ah," the elder says. "What makes you think--"  
  
"Just let me treat you this once," Jongin interjects. "You pay for me all the time. I can't mooch off your kindness forever." He wipes his mouth with a white table napkin. Joonmyun takes him to places like this every week--beautiful china, spotless cutlery, Beethoven playing in the background.  
  
"Of course you can," Joonmyun shoots back affectionately. He waves over a passing server and asks her, in French, to bring them the dessert menu. "It's not kindness. It's my pleasure."  
  
Jongin's been to this restaurant twice before, courtesy of his older friend. They'd taken a fifteen-minute cab ride from the Tuileries to get to La Défense, the business district, where Joonymun works in a gleaming high-rise. The restaurant is a block away from his office. Its prices are through the roof--but Jongin doesn't spend his pocket money on much, anyway.  
  
"You're not going to win this time," he says, mild and matter-of-fact. "I'm leaving Paris in a week, so you can't say no to me."  
  
Joonmyun's smile flickers, and he casts his eyes down to his near-empty plate. "Is that right?" he murmurs, prodding at a cherry tomato with his fork. "All right, then. I can never say no to you, anyway."  
  
It's crept up again, the quiet lilt in Joonmyun's tone that Jongin has come to recognize as longing. They've never talked about it, but Jongin isn't dumb. He knows Joonmyun is...interested in him. He just can't pinpoint when it started.  
  
After all, it was Kyungsoo who'd first brought it to his attention.  
  
"It's settled, then," Jongin concludes in a voice meant to be casual. "Everything's on me today."  
  
Joonmyun looks up and offers him a flimsy smile, just as Jongin's phone buzzes on the table.  
  
Jongin can't catch himself fast enough. "Hyung," he ventures without thinking, heart pounding. "I think we should--"  
  
"Aren't you going to get that?" Joonmyun asks. There is a shadow of a plea in his words, like he isn't ready to have this talk just yet, and he wants Jongin to change the subject so they can move on. Jongin picks up on a lot of things even when Joonymun doesn't say them.  
  
"I--"  
  
His phone buzzes a second time as the server comes back with the menu. Joonmyun thanks her, looks over the courses of sweets and pastries, and proceeds to ask for her recommendations.  
  
"You want  _crème brulee_ , Jongin?" he tosses out, breezy as can be. "Your usual?"  
  
Jongin's phone buzzes again.  
  
He makes up his mind.  
  
"All right, hyung," he says, eyes gone soft with understanding.  _Next time._  
  
Joonmyun appears relieved as he orders the custard for Jongin and a  _pain au chocolat_  for himself. The server whisks away to the kitchen, and Jongin finally picks up his phone.  
  
He quails at the name on the caller ID.  
  
"I'm just gonna take this," he informs Joonmyun, rising from his seat and gesturing in the direction of the entrance.  
  
"School?" Joonmyun assumes hesitantly. Jongin tries to make his nod a convincing one.  
  
His sneakers pad softly over the polished wooden floorboards as he makes his way out of the restaurant. He only swipes his thumb across the screen to answer the call when he's pushed his way out the door and into the sidewalk, where a pair of brunettes are clacking past in Louboutins.  
  
"Hello?" Jongin says into the phone, a touch breathless.  
  
"Jongin," Kyungsoo's low, velvet tone responds. He sounds cautious, in a way Jongin has never known him to be. "Hey...it's me."  
  
That voice had read out  _The Little Prince_  when they were younger, sharing beds in the big house in Gangnam. Had told Jongin,  _I'm sorry, I don't,_  when they were older, keeping secrets in their separate rooms.  
  
"Soo," Jongin says. "It's been a while."  
  
  
  
  
 _Seoul, 10 years ago_  
  
Jongin is twelve when he realizes he is different from the other boys.  
  
After his mother's passing, Ahjussi and Ahjumma have him transferred to Kyungsoo's school. The tail-end of elementary is all right, because Jongin is smart and quiet and keeps to himself, and because he and Kyungsoo are placed in all the same classes.  
  
Neither of them have much interest in sports, so they spend recess in the library, reading together on the carpet and clandestinely gnawing on beef jerky. The librarian catches them almost every time.  
  
If the savory treat is in Jongin's hands at her approach, Kyungsoo will grab it and take the biggest, most rubbery bite, saying, "It's my snack, not his." They both get hell for it, anyway.  
  
It's a peaceful time, which Jongin remembers with warmth--and just a touch of bittersweetness.  
  
When they get to middle school, Jongin is assigned to a separate class for the first time in three years. The teacher seats him in the front row, because of his stellar academic record. The moment she leaves the room, there's trouble.  
  
"So you're the charity case," snarks a rotund thirteen-year-old, braces glinting. "The orphan who lives with Do."  
  
Jongin bites his tongue, keeping his eyes on his textbook.  
  
"Your mom was the housekeeper, right?" says another bully--skinny, with cutting eyes. "They had to take you in after she kicked the bucket?"  
  
Jongin's hand slowly clenches into a fist.  
  
The chubby kid notices. "What, you're gonna hit me?" He sweeps Jongin's book, pad, and pencils off his desk. "Go on. Make your dead mom proud."  
  
"Shut up, Mong," Jongin's seatmate, Soojung, pipes up. She's a slender girl with fine brown hair, who'd let Jongin borrow her sharpener when he'd asked. "Leave him alone."  
  
The chubby kid laughs scornfully and reaches for Jongin's collar to haul him out of his chair. "I'll do whatever I want." He wrests Jongin closer, sizing him up. "Pathetic. Won't even fight back."  
  
"Stop it," Soojung grits out between her teeth, rising in place.  
  
The skinny kid pushes her back down. He slams his hands on her desk. Then, still staring her down, he smacks Jongin on the back of his head. Just for show.  
  
The blood boils hot and fast in Jongin's veins. His whole body tenses, launching into attack mode. Forcefully, he shoves Mong away, the bully's grip on his shirt taking a few buttons with him. Mong reels back, colliding with the skinny kid, Ryu. They tumble into a heap on the floor. The classroom wallops with laughter.  
  
Soojung slides over an approving smile. But Jongin knows this isn't over yet.  
  
"You little shit!" Mong bellows, struggling to get up.  
  
Ryu is on his feet more quickly. "Think that's funny, punk?" He advances in Jongin's direction, predatory, his fist already lifted. Jongin's own tightens in defense. He doesn't like fighting, but he won't back down now.  
  
Ryu's lip curls. "You're  _dead_." He draws back his arm to deliver the blow.  
  
Soojung gasps. Jongin doesn't flinch.  
  
"If you touch him, you'll regret it."  
  
In the doorway, holding his lunchbox, looking as grave as ever, is Kyungsoo.  
  
Jongin feels a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.  
  
"Butt out," Mong starts to say. "You've got nothing to do with this--"  
  
"You have the ugliest face I've ever seen," Kyungsoo cuts in calmly. "Makes sense how you act like such a monster."  
  
Mong casts about for words, but Kyungsoo is already brushing past him. He's shorter and much slighter, but Mong shuffles out of his way, regardless. The Dos are untouchable in these upper crust circles. They're one of the most powerful families in society.  
  
"You all right?" Kyungsoo murmurs when he passes Soojung's desk. She nods, dimpling. Their parents are old friends.  
  
He keeps his eyes straight ahead, not looking at Jongin. He only places his lunch on Jongin's empty desk, steps over the clutter of things on the floor, and casually stands in front of his friend. Protective.  
  
There isn't too much space between them. Jongin can feel the warmth coming off Kyungsoo's back, half an inch from his chest.  
  
"Back off," Kyungsoo tells Ryu, cool as a cucumber.  
  
"He's an impostor," the skinny kid insists, eyes still as mean, but voice jittery. "Everyone knows he isn't your brother, Do."  
  
"No one said he was my brother," Kyungsoo answers drily. "He's my best friend, and he lives with us, and he always keeps a cool head. My  _real_ brother will beat you to a pulp when I tell him what you've been saying to Jongin." His mouth quirks, and his voice lowers to a deceptively soothing timbre. "Should I tell him now?"  
  
Ryu's fist, still suspended in the air, quakes. Kyungsoo blows on it. The fist falls to Ryu's side.  
  
"You act so tough," the bully mutters. "But you can't even fight me yourself--have to call Seungsoo-sunbae to do it."  
  
"I have a piano recital over the weekend," Kyungsoo tells him matter-of-factly, like he's discussing a math assignment. "I need to protect my hands."  
  
The classroom sparks with laughter once more, the sound of it bouncing off the walls. Kyungsoo's eyes widen in surprise. He looks around him, a puzzled smile playing on his lips. He wasn't saying it to be droll--he was just being honest.  
  
A strange thing happens when he looks over his shoulder and makes eye contact with Jongin for the first time. Kyungsoo's eyes are large and brown, like a baby animal's, and his plump mouth is pulled into a quizzical shape. Without warning, a soft, warm feeling fizzes up in Jongin's chest, like soda in a shaken can. It travels upwards, through his throat, into his cheeks, then his temples, until it feels like he's bubbling over.  
  
"What did I say?" Kyungsoo asks. He's gone from passive-aggressive to plain naive in two seconds flat. Behind him, Ryu is backing away, defeated.  
  
"The thing about your recital," Jongin says, pushing his hands into his pockets because he doesn't know what to do with them. Otherwise, he would give in to temptation and place a palm over his chest to feel how fast his heart is beating.  
  
"That was funny?" Kyungsoo chuckles, shrugging. "Okay then."  
  
"Thanks for..." Jongin trails off. He licks his lips. "Just, thanks."  
  
"You're my best friend," Kyungsoo says simply. "You'd do it for me."  
  
"I would." The words are solemn in Jongin's mouth.  
  
Kyungsoo beams, one of his flash-in-the-pan smiles, before his expression fades back down to its usual unreadableness. "I came to eat with you," he admits. "Do you want to get tteokbokki from the cart by the gate?"  
  
"But you have a packed lunch," Jongin says. "And so do I."  
  
"Yeah," Kyungsoo agrees, and he reaches out to arrange Jongin's ruined shirt. "But I know you like that tteokbokki best, so we should go get it."  
  
The fizzy feeling coats Jongin's ribs, surrounds his lungs, and branches out into his fingertips. This, he realizes, is a crush.  
  
It only strikes him later, when he and Kyungsoo are standing by the cart, toothpicking their way through paper trays of spicy rice cake, that most boys have crushes on girls.  
  
  
  
  
Jongin meets Kim Joonmyun the day his family moves in next door. Kyungsoo meets him at the same time, since he and Jongin are both standing in the street. They're supposed to be testing out a pair of remote-controlled toy cars that Seungsoo got for them, but all the commotion distracts them from the race.  
  
A teenager comes strolling out onto the driveway. He's holding two ice cream cones. He licks one, then glances to the left and right of the sidewalk. When he spots Jongin and Kyungsoo in front of their gate, he lifts his chin.  
  
"Hey!" he calls out. "Have either of you seen my sister?"  
  
They shake their heads.  
  
"No?" The teenager sucks a little cream off the back of his hand, where it's managed to drip. "She's about your age--tiny, with short hair?"  
  
They shake their heads again.  
  
"Hmm." The older boy quirks his mouth. "Her ice cream is melting."  
  
Jongin blinks. It's hot out today, and his lips are dry, so he inadvertently licks them. Their new neighbor catches him in the act.  
  
"You want her cone, kid?" He holds out the untouched ice cream, smiling kindly. "You can have it, if you like. I'd hate to see it go to waste."  
  
When Jongin stays mum, the teenager turns to Kyungsoo. "How about you?"  
  
"No, thank you," is Kyungsoo's prompt response. It's put across in the clear, polite voice he uses with strangers, particularly when he's uncomfortable.  
  
The other's smile deepens. "Okay." He turns back to Jongin, eyes amused, lips sealed shut, still holding out the ice cream cone.  
  
"I'll take it, please," Jongin pipes up. The teenager seems harmless, nothing like the strangers Ahjumma has warned them to avoid. Besides, Jongin loves ice cream.  
  
The boy meets him halfway. "Here you go, kid," he says, handing Jongin the sweet. "I'm Joonmyun, by the way."  
  
The twelve-year-old dips his head. "I'm Jongin." Then he presses his lips against the swirl of soft vanilla and slurps. A bit of the ice cream catches on the tip of his nose, cold and sticky.  
  
Joonmyun laughs, and suddenly there's a finger coiling into the back loop of Jongin's jeans. It's Kyungsoo, come to join them.  
  
"Are you two brothers?" Joonmyun asks, lapping at his own treat.  
  
"No," Jongin replies. Kyungsoo reaches up to wipe the ice cream off his face. When Jongin looks over at him, Kyungsoo's got the tip of his thumb in his mouth. It comes out clean.  
  
"Didn't think so," Joonmyun says. "You don't look alike."  
  
"This is Kyungsoo," Jongin shares, and he angles the ice cream cone so Kyungsoo can have some more, if he wants. "We're best friends."  
  
Kyungsoo bows slightly.  
  
Joonmyun nods, sliding his free hand into the pocket of his shorts. He has a patient face, like Jongin's favorite teacher at ballet school. "Nice to meet you. You can call me hyung when we see each other around."  
  
"Okay," Jongin says pleasantly. He takes another lick of his ice cream, the cone still suspended between him and Kyungsoo. Just in case.  
  
"Okay," Kyungsoo echoes, and he leans forward for a taste. He gets the melted stuff all over his upper lip. Jongin wipes it clean with his forefinger, returning the favor.  
  
When Kyungsoo glances at him, it's with approval. It's almost...triumphant. Jongin's stomach churns, the way it's done the past few times his friend has shown him any semblance of special treatment.  
  
 _It's just a crush,_  Jongin tells himself, his face heating up as Joonymun looks on curiously. _It'll be over before I know it._  
  
  
  
  
 _Paris, present day_  
  
The halls and studios of the Conservatoire have been Jongin's home away from home for what feels like a long time--but also, the blink of an eye. Today, he spends the morning visiting his favorite professors, reminiscing about old times and saying goodbye in advance. He doubts he'll get to catch them in the aftermath of commencement weekend. Not long after the festivities, he'll be on an airbus bound for Seoul with his family.  
  
"I'm not sure if Mom told you," Kyungsoo had said over the phone the day before, "but I'm coming to Paris with everyone." He'd called from New York--probably from inside his Manhattan apartment that Jongin has never seen. "I'm on break from school."  
  
"I know." Jongin had scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the sidewalk. "She said."  
  
The pause had been brief, but weighted.  _Scrape, scrape._  
  
"I can come, can't I?" Kyungsoo's tone had been steeped with uncertainty. "You want me to come?"  
  
"Of course." This had been mumbled. "Don't be silly. You don't have to ask."  
  
"I wasn't sure." Then, in a rush, "About last time--"  
  
"It's fine," Jongin had cut in before he could say any more. "I want you there, Soo." His sigh had been muted; the gentlest of exhales. "You're like my brother."  
  
Another pause, and then a weak chuckle had crackled through the line. "You, too, Jongin-ah."  
  
He'd shut his eyes.  
  
"I'll see you in a few days," was the promise Kyungsoo'd left him with before they'd ended the call.  
  
 _A few days,_  Jongin repeats to himself, standing in front of his final practice room, camera in hand.  _The finish line._  
  
He snaps a quick photo of the bright, airy space. He doesn't check it. He wonders if this week is to be the beginning of so many ends, just like the end of childhood had marked the last of so many firsts.  
  
The director, Monsieur Deneuve, catches him in the corridor. "Kim Jongin," he calls. "Just the dancer I wanted to see."  
  
"Good morning, sir," Jongin replies, mirroring the man's choice of language--English. He resists the urge to bow, only dipping his chin slightly in deference. Even after years in a European culture, he still finds it difficult to break his habits.  
  
"I'm glad you're here this morning," Deneuve says. "I've just gotten some very exciting news, and I was going to call you in to tell you."  
  
Jongin rests his hands on the strap of his leather messenger bag. "What news?"  
  
"The Ballet called about you," the director says with a meaningful smile.  
  
Jongin feels the entire cavity of his chest constrict. The Ballet means the Paris Opera Ballet--only the most respected (and exclusive) ballet company in France. Worldwide, it ranks in the top five.  
  
"They did?"  
  
"Yes, my dear boy," Deneuve goes on. "They want you to dance with them next season."  
  
" _Me?_ " Jongin gasps. The Ballet siphons most of its talent from its alma mater, the Paris Opera Ballet School. The Conservatoire de Paris is nothing to scoff at--but Jongin can't think of anyone, off the top of his head, who's been invited to the company without training at POBS first. "Why me?"  
  
"You're exceptional," Deneuve pronounces, amused. "Someone saw you in _La Bayader_  last semester at your showcase. They'd like you to fill in a demi-soloist vacancy--if you're interested."  
  
"Wow." Jongin is at a loss for words. It doesn't even matter that it's a secondary position. It's  _The Ballet._  "Wow. I'm interested."  
  
Deneuve beams. "I'll get them in touch with you." He claps Jongin on the shoulder, twice, the look on his face fatherly. "I know you have your heart set on principal, but you'll get there. The good ones always do."  
  
"Even if they tossed me into the  _corps_ ," Jongin drawls, "I wouldn't miss this for the world."  
  
"That's the spirit." Deneuve pats the side of his face. "Fortunately, you're too talented to be a backup dancer." He leans in to whisper, "But don't tell anyone I said that!"  
  
Before he leaves, Jongin has the director turn to the light, so he can take a photo of him. And then they squeeze into one together, Jongin's smile quivering in shock and excitement.  
  
On the metro headed to Boulevard Haussman, where he plans to pick up a few trinkets for Ahjumma and the twins, Jongin whips out his phone. It is without thinking that he keys in a text.  
  
 _Paris Opera Ballet wants me next season..._  
  
The reply beeps almost instantly.  
  
 _That's amazing, Jongin!_ Kyungsoo has written. _I always knew you could do it. Ever since we were kids ^_^_  
  
Jongin types, _I still can't believe it. Of all the dancers in this city, they wanted ME?_  
  
The response doesn't come as quickly this time. In the interim, he rereads Kyungsoo's message. It's kind of sweet, the way Kyungsoo has always been kind of sweet to him. That's the most dangerous thing about the youngest Do--the rareness of his affection, and the addictive sensation it leaves when generously bestowed.  
  
Jongin has just cracked the smallest of smiles, the twinge ghosting over his nerves, when Kyungsoo's next message arrives.  
  
 _Why wouldn't they?_ There is no emoji.  _Everybody wants you, Jongin-ah._  
  
  
  
  
 _Seoul, six years ago_  
  
Jongin gets his first kiss at sixteen.  
  
By the time he gets to high school, the fleeting whispers of "orphan" and "charity case" that trailed after him with decreasing frequency cease altogether. Kyungsoo, Seungsoo, and the noonas have made sure of that.  
  
In high school, he and Kyungsoo are put in all the same classes again. At lunch, they eat at a large table with their close-knit circle of friends. (They were Kyungsoo's first, back when they were kids, but at his behest, they took Jongin in, too.)  
  
Almost overnight, Jongin finds himself very popular.  
  
"I heard Choi Jinri talking about you just now," Sehun mentions during PE. It's basketball today, which Sehun is amazing at, and Jongin is not. Sehun's only sitting with him on the bench because he fouled out (but not before singlehandedly scoring sixteen points for their team).  
  
"Oh?" Jongin says, watching Tao make a slam dunk. As Chanyeol ruffles his hair, Tao points straight into the bleachers, where Song Qian is sitting. She giggles; he winks.  
  
Jongin and Sehun gag quietly.  
  
"Yeah," Sehun says, exchanging the disbelieving look on his face for a more confiding one. "She was talking to Soojung, and she goes, 'Have you seen Jongin lately? He's gotten so  _hot_.'" Sehun wiggles his eyebrows, his mouth forming a tiny O-shape.  
  
Jongin laughs and waves him off.  
  
"Listen, there's more," Sehun insists. "Jinri goes, 'Are you into him? Because if you aren't, you should be. Someone's going to snap him up.'" His eyes widen with glee. "And then  _Soojung_ says, 'I know. Dibs.'"  
  
A crease forms between Jongin's eyebrows. He wasn't anticipating that. He's known Soojung for a large part of his academic life, and they're very friendly. They even attend the same ballet school after class and on weekends. But he's never thought of her as more than a chum.  
  
He already has someone he likes.  
  
Sehun prods his temple with two stiff fingers. "Did you hear me? Choi Jinri thinks you're hot, and Jung Soojung wants you! They're only the prettiest girls we know!"  
  
"Ow," Jongin replies, rubbing lightly over the skin. "Calm down."  
  
"What's this?" a voice asks, as a body slides in next to Jongin's on the bench. Immediately, he's on high alert.  
  
"Kyungsoo," Sehun whines, "tell Jongin that Jinri and Soojung are the prettiest girls we know."  
  
"They are," Kyungsoo murmurs, picking lint off Jongin's sleeve and smoothing down the fabric afterwards. His fingers are cool. "Minah, too."  
  
Jongin presses his lips together.  
  
"Yes, yes," Sehun says dismissively. "But see, Jongin? Even the prince acknowledges it."  
  
"Stop calling me that," Kyungsoo says. He flicks the lint in Sehun's direction. "Why are we talking about this, anyway?"  
  
Jongin opens his mouth, hoping to filter out the gossip, but an excited Sehun beats him to the punch, relaying the story in its entirety.  
  
"Our Jongin is a hot commodity these days," he concludes, pinching Jongin on the cheek. His hand is promptly swatted away.  
  
"It's not a big deal," Jongin mumbles, feeling embarrassed and torn. It's not as if Kyungsoo even cares if someone likes him. Scratch that--he probably does, but it's just not the way Jongin wants him to.  
  
"That's our boy," Kyungsoo says, resting his hand on the back of Jongin's neck and squeezing lightly. "He's the handsome one in the group."  
  
"Shut up," Jongin groans, but he lets Kyungsoo keep his hand where it is, because he likes it when Kyungsoo touches him.  
  
It comes as no surprise when Soojung invites all the guys to her birthday party at her house. She delivers Jongin's invitation by hand, with a self-conscious smile he's never seen before. Sehun mouths an  _I-told-you-so,_  which Jongin pretends to miss.  
  
The real surprise? That Jongin winds up with his head in her lap, drunk off the beer her older sister had snuck in for the party.  
  
For the past two hours, Jongin has been watching Kyungsoo speak with Minah, Joonmyun's little sister. The same one who'd been missing when they first moved in, and whose ice cream cone Jongin had devoured on the sidewalk.  
  
Minah is pert and petite, with curved feline eyes that drive all the boys crazy. She giggles as Kyungsoo says something amusing, leaning against a wall with his ankles crossed. He sips from his red party cup, and Minah takes it out of his hand to do the same.  
  
She's made no secret of how much she likes him. She's been coming over to their house unannounced to watch Kyungsoo play the piano. Visiting their classroom during breaks to drill him on the books/albums/films he likes, then asking to borrow his copies. Tagging along when Kyungsoo sometimes goes to fetch Jongin from dance practice, and meeting the latter's surprise with a cheerful "Hi, Jongin-ah."  
  
What Jongin doesn't understand is why Kyungsoo lets it go on. He's never really lost the aloofness of his boyhood, only letting his guard down around Jongin and their family. But with Minah, he is uncharacteristically tolerant. Not quite encouraging, but not quite discouraging, either.  
  
Once, he'd called her cute. Jongin had ducked his head and made no comment, save for a vague hum.  
  
Every time she touches Kyungsoo's arm or playfully hits his chest in the course of their conversation, Jongin takes a swig. He finishes three bottles this way. Now the room is soft and spongy and spinning so, so fast.  
  
"Jongin?"  
  
He pries his eyelids open, trying to clear them of the haze. "Yeah."  
  
"It's Soojung." The breath on his face is warm and smells like candy.  
  
"Hi," he says, woozy as can be. "Happy birthday."  
  
"You're so drunk," Soojung says. She presses her palm over his forehead, clucking her tongue. Her hair curtains his face. The tips tickle his skin.  
  
"That's nice," Jongin tells her. "So nice."  
  
"Should I ask Kyungsoo to bring you home now?" She pulls her mouth. "You're going to have a huge headache in the morning, by the looks of it."  
  
"No," Jongin slurs. "Not Kyungsoo. He's busy."  
  
"What're we going to do with you, then?" Soojung asks, smoothing Jongin's damp bangs away from his face.  
  
"Nothing," Jongin replies. "I'm good." Then he closes his eyes.  
  
He doesn't know if he blacks out or just loses track of time because of how wasted he is. But the next time Jongin's lashes flutter, and his bleary eyes focus on the nearest point, Soojung's face is much closer than it was before.  
  
She startles when she sees him awake, but she doesn't draw back. Jongin gazes at her under eyelids of molasses, blinking sticky-slow. He isn't really sure what's happening, but his head is still in her lap, and his whole body feels like lead.  
  
It only takes a beat, and then Soojung is planting the softest kiss on his closed mouth.  
  
"My birthday gift," she whispers.  
  
Jongin shuts his eyes again. The room is a top losing its momentum, spinning and spinning and spinning, slower and slower and slower, until he is fast asleep.  
  
  
  
  
He and Kyungsoo start walking home at midnight.  
  
"We are so dead when we get home," Jongin mutters. The beginning of a hangover pulses at his temples.  
  
"I'll handle it," Kyungsoo says, calm and confident. He hasn't had as much to drink. "I'll tell Mom we didn't bother calling Chauffeur Lee because it was late and he needed the shuteye. We've walked home before."  
  
"Right," Jongin says. "Except I meant she's going to smell the beer on us before we even get through the gate."  
  
"Oh." Kyungsoo's brow furrows. "In that case, yes, we are so dead."  
  
They share a laugh, and Jongin stumbles over his feet. Kyungsoo catches him by the elbow. He keeps his fingers there as they trudge through the lamp-lit streets.  
  
By and by, his hand fits completely into the groove of Jongin's arm.  
  
"I saw you with Soojung, by the way."  
  
Jongin shrugs. "I don't even know how I got to the couch." He only remembers the  _why_.  
  
"She kissed you." Kyungsoo's eyes are on the street ahead of them, and his tone is curious. "Do you remember?"  
  
Soojung's lip balm had been colorless and smooth, with a faint bubblegum scent. Of course Jongin remembers. When Kyungsoo turns to him, he blushes.  
  
"I was awake."  
  
He can't evade that gaze. "I always thought something might happen between you two," Kyungsoo says evenly.  
  
"Why?" Jongin feels so uncomfortable. "We're just friends."  
  
"Not anymore." Kyungsoo's smile is a confusing one. "Congrats."  
  
This is all wrong.  
  
"I don't like her that way," Jongin says, not sure where he's going with this, but sensing a newfound boldness unfurling in his chest.  
  
"Why not?" It's a red light for the pedestrian walk, so Kyungsoo pulls them both to a stop. His arm is still linked with Jongin's. "Sehun's right, you know. She's really pretty."  
  
"I have someone I like," Jongin says, "so I don't notice anyone else."  
  
It's only half of his big secret, no names, but it makes his blood pump a little harder, anyway.  
  
The light turns green. Jongin makes to cross, but Kyungsoo's arm holds him in place.  
  
"I never knew that," the other boy murmurs. "I thought you told me everything."  
  
 _Not everything,_  Jongin intones. "I haven't told anybody."  
  
"Who is it?" Kyungsoo asks, finally drawing his hand away. "You'll tell me now, won't you?"  
  
"Nope," Jongin replies. He starts walking again, knowing Kyungsoo will follow.  
  
They've barely taken two steps when Kyungsoo next speaks. Cajoling. Persuasive. "Tell me who you like, Jongin-ah."  
  
The word is the same, but it takes a little more effort this time. "Nope." Jongin's temples are throbbing from the alcohol, and his heart is throbbing from the sweetness of Kyungsoo's voice. He knows this doesn't count as a crush anymore. It's grown up alongside them.  
  
"Tell me," Kyungsoo insists, and his lips are suddenly at the level of Jongin's ear. "Tell me or I'll tickle you." His arm circles Jongin's waist, fingertips skating treacherously over Jongin's ribs.  
  
"Nope!" Jongin yelps, and he wriggles free. His feet propel him forward into a run. His mind tells him  _faster, before this gets any more awkward!_  A shiver runs up and down his arms when he recalls the dry brush of Kyungsoo's lips against his lobe. He wants to feel it again.  
  
"Hey!" Kyungsoo starts running behind him. "Jongin!"  
  
Jongin bursts out in an incredulous laugh--a cackle, really. He feels much too exposed, and equal parts reckless, and just a tiny bit freer. When he looks over his shoulder, Kyungsoo's hair is flopping into his face, his teeth flashing beneath an open smile.  
  
"Jongin-ah!" Kyungsoo protests. He's laughing, too. "Wait for me!"  
  
  
  
  
It takes two months after that for Kyungsoo to get  _his_ first kiss.  
  
He comes to fetch Jongin from ballet school with Chauffeur Lee on a particularly rainy Saturday. Jongin gets a text that reads,  _We're downstairs. Come out when you're ready._  
  
He's expecting another encounter with Minah, but when he gets outside, hood already propped up, it's just Kyungsoo waiting with a big green umbrella.  
  
"I thought you were at Joonmyun-hyung's?" Jongin says, ducking under the shade.  
  
He knows it's petty, but he's never called it "Minah's house."  
  
"I was," Kyungsoo replies, reaching for the car handle. "Get in. We'll be drenched in a minute."  
  
Into the backseat they clamber. Jongin whips off his hood to bow hello to Chauffeur Lee. The man smiles at him through the rear view mirror, and then the car rolls into motion.  
  
"What did you guys do today?" Jongin asks, even though he really doesn't want to know. He palms his hair, still damp with sweat, to arrange it.  
  
Kyungsoo's face flickers. He rubs the pinky on his left hand between the thumb and forefinger of his right. "I kissed Minah," he admits. Then he swivels his entire body over the leather upholstered seat to get a good look at Jongin's face.  
  
"Ah," Jongin says in a pleasant voice. He meets Kyungsoo's gaze. "Finally, huh?"  
  
He's not sure what Kyungsoo sees in his eyes. But the blip in the other boy's expression does not resurface.  
  
"Yeah." Kyungsoo offers up the small curl of his grin. "She's my girlfriend now."  
  
"That's great," Jongin says.  
  
"You like her, right? She's cool?" Kyungsoo places his hand on the cushioned leather between them, like it's Jongin's shoulder or knee or something. He waits.  
  
"Sure." Jongin pats the back of his hand, then crosses his arms over his chest, like he's getting comfortable in his seat. "I like her just fine."  
  
Minah calls just then--of course she does--and Kyungsoo props up his hand,  _hold on,_  before answering.  
  
"Hey, kid."  
  
The nickname falls from his lips the way it had from Joonmyun's long ago, when he'd offered Jongin that vanilla soft serve. Endeared, and with potential for a next time.  
  
Jongin watches the blossoming of Kyungsoo's rarest smile, and the way his eyes peel away to look out into the wet street, chuckling under his breath at whatever Minah is saying over the line.  
  
When he's sure Kyungsoo is fully preoccupied, Jongin leans his head against the window on his side. The glass is lashed with rain. Running through a catalogue of soft looks and featherlight touches and years of foolish, faithful, one-sided love, Jongin feels his heart break.


	2. Chapter 2

_Paris, present day_  
  
Ahjumma calls as Jongin is making dinner in his flat.  
  
"Hello, my darling," she greets him. "Is this a good time to talk?"  
  
He leans against the kitchen counter, wiping his hands on the front of his apron. "I always have time to talk to you, Ahjumma," he says.  
  
The sound she makes is pleased--just what Jongin intended. "Kyungsoo texted about The Ballet. Oh my goodness! Ahjussi and I are so excited for you!"  
  
"Thank you," Jongin replies, smiling. "I couldn't have done it without you guys." The company had called earlier, and Jongin had accepted their offer on the spot. "I wanted to save it for a surprise, but I forgot to tell Soo."  
  
Ahjumma laughs. "I'm sorry. You know that boy. He's your biggest fan."  
  
Jongin changes the subject. "You'll all be here the day before commencement, right?"  
  
"Oh, yes, that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about," Ahjumma tuts. "Would you like to come stay with us at the hotel? I know you're supposed to be packing up your apartment, but you'll want to keep it now that you've found a place in The Ballet." She says the company's name like it's up in lights.  
  
"That's right." Jongin discloses a grin. "I'll figure it out over the summer."  
  
"You're still flying home with us to Seoul, my darling? The whole household's expecting their Jongin back."  
  
"Of course," Jongin answers. "Please tell everyone I miss them and I'll see them soon."  
  
"All right." Here, a lull. "If your mother could see you dance..." A throat clears. "I know she would be over the moon, Jongin. You make her--and all of us--so proud. Every day."  
  
All is quiet in an instant--including Jongin's response. "Thanks, Ahjumma."  
  
"I remember the first time I met you," his foster mother continues. "You were so little. So sweet! You and Kyungsoo were still the same height back then." She laughs softly, the song of it ringing pure. "Do you remember why you started calling me Ahjumma?"  
  
"Yes," Jongin replies with fondness. "Kyungsoo called my mom Ahjumma, so that's what I thought I should call you. Mom tried to correct me so many times, but  _Madam_ just wouldn't stick."  
  
"I'm glad," Ahjumma says. "I hate Madam. It sounds nothing like family." She sniffles like a little kid, and Jongin is so endeared with her.  
  
"I love you, Ahjumma," he tells her, and his voice does not shake. "Do you know that?"  
  
She melts like butter. "Oh, Jongin," she says, sniffling some more. "I'm so lucky to have you."  
  
"Nah," he teases, turning playful. "I'm the lucky one."  
  
"It took me a long time to give up hope, you know." This is mentioned almost on a whim. "I always wished you would end up with one of the girls."  
  
_That_ hits Jongin like a bulldozer. "Pardon?"  
  
"It's only a four-year difference," Ahjumma reasons, ignoring his blatant disbelief. "And then, if you married one of the twins, I could require you to call me Omoni."  
  
"Ahjumma--" Jongin tries to cut in, but she barrels on.  
  
"Of course, when I realized you preferred boys to girls, I gave that notion up fairly quickly."  
  
Jongin's mouth falls open. His ears fill with white noise, his shock manifesting in a high-pitched buzzing. The sudden sizzle in a skillet makes him jump, bringing him back to his senses. "Hold on," he says into the phone, and he scrambles to turn the heat on low.  
  
Ahjumma's next words are uttered so gently. "You thought I didn't know?"  
  
Jongin exhales in a puff. "No," he admits. This is just as good a time as any. "How did you--"  
  
"A mother's instinct," she tells him, and there's no judgement there. Only reassurance, like when Jongin was a kid and Ahjumma'd held his hand through a scary movie Kyungsoo wanted to watch. "It makes no difference to me, my darling. Or to Ahjussi. I just wanted to tell you that."  
  
The lump in Jongin's throat slides down with effort. "Thank you." He's already said it to her three times in this conversation, but nothing else will suffice.  
  
"You're all grown up," Ahjumma muses, and he can hear her earrings click against the receiver. "Do you have anyone special in your life at the moment?"  
  
Oh, there's always been someone special. But Kyungsoo has never been his to have.  
  
"No," Jongin murmurs. He won't lie to her, though. "I'm still trying to get over someone."  
  
"Oh, my." It's easy to detect her concern over the line, even though he can't see it from miles and miles away. "What happened?"  
  
"Nothing." Jongin chuckles lowly, shaking his head. His free hand fiddles with the strings of his apron. It's almost funny, how true and how false that is at the same time. "Nothing happened."  
  
  
  
  
_Seoul, four years ago_  
  
Minah and Kyungsoo have been dating twenty-six months when Jongin receives his acceptance letter to the Conservatoire de Paris.  
  
His admission to the prestigious performance arts conservatory leaves him breathless--but the unavoidable parting from Kyungsoo bores a nail-sized hole in his steadfast heart.  
  
"You got in!" Kyungsoo marvels, holding the single sheaf of paper with the elegant letterhead in his small hands. "And it's  _Paris_ , Jongin. That's incredible."  
  
"You're going to New York," the other replies, trying to be casual about it, even as the mildest of tremors creeps into his throat. "That's a big deal, too."  
  
Kyungsoo will be attending Columbia in the fall to pursue a major in business (and a minor in music). Minah has applied to NYU--"For the graphic design program," she claims--but Jongin knows it's so she and Kyungsoo won't have to be apart. She expects her letter any day now.  
  
"So it's come to this," Kyungsoo notes, a touch morose. "The two of us on separate continents, miles away from home." He hands the letter back, and he's wearing the naturally grave expression Jongin knows he will miss when he's living alone in the French capital.  
  
He lets their fingers brush, even though he shouldn't. "We'll survive," he says shakily. But he can't mask the sadness in it, so Jongin turns his back on the pretense of sliding the letter into its envelope.  
  
He's loved ballet for nine years, and Kyungsoo for six. He's never outgrown the warm, close-fitting mantle of his first love. It's only stretched and expanded and reinforced itself around him, no matter how many times he's tried to shake it off.  
  
He watches Soojung break in her pointe shoes every class--ripping the silk, darning the ends tight, striking each slipper against the hardwood floor, stretching them as far as they will go with  _elevé_ after punishing  _elevé_ , until they are perfect. Each time, he thinks,  _That's what I've been doing all these years. Tearing myself up, sewing myself in, keeping this hopeless, hopeless secret._  He feels trapped, and he doesn't want to be in love anymore--not with someone who cannot feel the same.  
  
And yet.  
  
"I'll come visit you whenever I have a break," Kyungsoo promises. When Jongin turns back around, Kyungsoo gives him a odd look. Then he's tracing his thumb underneath the dancer's lower lashes, right at his waterline. There's a speck of dirt on the tip when he pulls his thumb away.  
  
Jongin rubs his eye more vigorously than necessary.  
  
"Don't do that when I can't stop you in Paris," Kyungsoo chides him. "If you haven't washed your hands, you'll get pinkeye."  
  
Jongin can still feel an isolated ripple where the other boy had touched him. It makes the roof of his mouth tingle. "Sorry."  
  
Kyungsoo purses his lips. The V-shape of his Cupid's bow is so deep. "I'm getting separation anxiety."  
  
"You'll have Minah close by," Jongin comments without enthusiasm. He hopes Kyungsoo takes it as a sign of resignation, not loneliness. "That's a piece of home, right there."  
  
Large, baby-animal eyes study him carefully, and Jongin feels like he's twelve again, bewildered by his virgin brush with attraction.  
  
"You're home, too," Kyungsoo says. He flicks the speck of dirt off his thumb, onto the carpet.  
  
After that, they don't talk about it anymore.  
  
  
  
  
Joonmyun has had a habit of sitting out on his driveway every Sunday since his family moved in. He always has a book with him--a complicated English one, assigned by one of his professors at university. There is a large tree right by the gate, with widespread branches and fat, bright leaves that shade his reading spot. Jongin knows that's exactly why Joonymun likes it so much (granted it isn't raining or snowing).  
  
For a few years, before Joonmyun left home to work abroad, Jongin would come and sit with him. He's always been fond of the older boy, because he feels like a friend Jongin made all on his own, not someone Kyungsoo introduced him to.  
  
(He loves Sehun and Chanyeol and Tao and the rest of their friends, of course, but they were Kyungsoo's first. Ever since his mother died, Jongin's always been looking for something to call his own.)  
  
Eventually, Kyungsoo will come out of the house, calling Jongin's name with a hand cupped around his mouth, like Jongin is a puppy who's gone missing. He'll come sit with them, too, leaning against Jongin and waspishly correcting Joonmyun's near-perfect pronunciation when he reads out excerpts from his book.  
  
Today is a Sunday, and Joonmyun is in town. He's been out of university for a few years now, learning the family business in Tokyo. But he's still out there on the Kims' driveway, a book between his hands. Old Reliable.  
  
"Hyung!" Jongin exclaims as he jogs over. "You're back!"  
  
Joonmyun gets up to give him a one-armed hug. "Jongin-ah, you're so tall," he says warmly. He claps Jongin on the arm. "So buff, too! What happened to you?"  
  
"Oh, you know." Jongin gestures offhandedly. "Ballet."  
  
"It's not for the weak, huh?" Joonmyun ripostes in a teasing tone. "Hardcore stuff?" Jongin punches him in the side, light and easy.  
  
Then he shuffles his feet. "I got into the Conservatoire," he says, folding in his lips to conceal his smile. It doesn't work.  
  
"I know, I heard from Minah." Joonmyun hugs him again for good measure. "I'm so happy for you, kid." He licks his lips, looking tentative. "Have you heard?"  
  
"Heard what?"  
  
Joonmyun clears his throat. "Ah, well...she got her letter from NYU this morning. It was a no."  
  
"Shit," Jongin says. He's not sure if this makes him a horrible person, but his first thought is of Kyungsoo, and what the news will do to him, and how he will fare without his high school sweetheart in the same city.  
  
Come to think of it, he hasn't seen Kyungsoo since breakfast.  
  
"She's devastated," Joonmyun shares. "You know how she is. She needs to be around your brother all the time, so the mere mention of 'long distance' makes her panic."  
  
"Yeah," Jongin murmurs. And then, "You know Kyungsoo's not my brother, hyung."  
  
Joonmyun coughs out an  _aw-shucks_  kind of laugh, like he can't believe he's made the blunder out loud. "I know, I know, I'm sorry." He ruffles Jongin's hair. "I call him that in my head sometimes. It's been a bad habit since we first moved in. I couldn't remember Kyungsoo's name at first, so he was 'Jongin's brother.'"  
  
Jongin nods and smiles, and says no more on the matter.  
  
"He's been here all day," Joonmyun tells him, and the expression in his eyes is a little more inquisitive. "He's been trying to calm my sister down. Telling her why staying in Seoul isn't so bad--she  _did_ get into Hongik University."  
  
"That's a great school," Jongin replies. "Good design program."  
  
"Kyungsoo's a nice kid," Joonmyun continues, like he hasn't heard. "And I really do like him."  
  
Jongin hums.  
  
"But sometimes, I think..." He can feel Joonmyun's stare boring into the side of his head, so Jongin turns to meet it. The older man blinks a couple times. He shakes his head. "Never mind."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing." Joonymun smiles at him. Reassuring. Apologetic. "Forget it."  
  
Jongin's protest is already at his lips-- _what, hyung?_ \--but there are footsteps behind them, and the gate is groaning open on its unoiled hinges. He doesn't even have to look over his shoulder to recognize the voice that asks, "Were you looking for me?"  
  
"Not exactly," Jongin says, and he feels the slight pressure on top of his head where Kyungsoo is resting his hand. There is also a little pressure at the base of his throat, which Jongin decides to ignore. He pats the smooth patch of tile next to him. "Come sit, Soo."  
  
Kyungsoo does as he's told, dipping his head in a quick hello to Joonmyun, who only nods back and takes up his book. No doubt they've said their greetings earlier.  
  
"How's Minah?" Jongin asks, raking his fingernails over the knees of his jeans. "Hyung told me--"  
  
"She's better," is Kyungsoo's quiet answer. Jongin can tell it's only meant for him. "She's stopped crying, at least." Kyungsoo glances up briefly, regarding Jongin from under his eyelashes, before flicking his eyes back down. "We'll be okay. We love each other."  
  
It's with a tiny, selfish drop of sorrow that Jongin replies, "I know you do." He tries to make his voice as consoling as it will permit, without him feeling achy all over. "You'll make it work."  
  
He doesn't know why, without warning or explanation, Joonmyun decides to ruffle his hair again, right after he says the words.  
  
  
  
  
Jongin leaves for Paris three weeks before his classes begin. Both Ahjussi and Ahjumma take off work to set him up, as they did with all the older children. In a week, their youngest will get the same treatment when they fly him out to the Big Apple.  
  
The night before Jongin's flight, it is Kyungsoo who helps him pack. Jongin's left it all to the last minute. The fact that he's going to be attending the school of his dreams has long sunk in, but the separation from the person he (still) loves has not. He's been fending off the weight of it--the stretch of airspace and volume of seawater and miles and miles of land mass between them, when here, in Seoul, they are five steps away from each other's bedrooms. He's pushed all of that, and then some, to the back of his mind. Until tonight.  
  
"Are you bringing the jacket I got you for your birthday?" Kyungsoo asks. He folds two pairs of socks at once and stuffs them into the corner of Jongin's case.  
  
Jongin gestures somewhere behind him. "I'm wearing it on the plane." There is a leather motorcycle jacket slung over the arm of a chair. "It's too bulky to pack."  
  
"How about sweaters?" Kyungsoo counts the rolled-up knits in the suitcase, plus the ones on Jongin's bed, still waiting to be dealt with. "I don't think you have enough sweaters."  
  
"I have plenty," Jongin tells him. "And I'll be spending most of my time in dance gear, anyway. I mostly need a good coat."  
  
"Do you have one?" Kyungsoo worries his bottom lip. "Dad says winter in Paris is even worse than winter in New York."  
  
"Yes, Soo, I have a good coat." Carefully, Jongin pries a woollen pullover from Kyungsoo's grasp.  
  
"Are you  _sure_?" Kyungsoo leans forward, mouth all screwy. "Minah had me check my coats the other day. The two I was banking on turned out to be moth-eaten from disuse."  
  
There is a quick, hot flare of irritation in the center of Jongin's forehead. "Ahjumma's taking me clothes-shopping when we get to Paris," he replies. "So you don't have to fuss." Then he bites his tongue, features twisting. That came out more sharply than he'd intended. He folds down the shirt and presses it in with the rest of the clothes, swallowing hard.  
  
Kyungsoo is silent only for a moment. "Not like that," he says patiently. He takes the pullover, rolls it up, and slides it into another spot. "If you do it this way, you get more space for heavier things. Like your jeans and stuff."  
  
"I'm sorry," Jongin tells him, lightning-fast. In contrast, his chest begins a slow, sure throb--the dead giveaway. "I didn't mean to snap."  
  
"I know," Kyungsoo mutters, and the vulnerability in it takes Jongin by surprise. "I'm sad, too."  
  
He's seated on the floor, Indian-style, with Jongin's going-away things fanned out around him. He looks up for a moment, all wistfulness and gentle reproach, and the expression on his face hits Jongin like a speeding bullet.  
  
There has never been anyone else in Jongin's life--not even his mother--who has made him feel like he belonged  _so much_.  
  
Then the moment passes, and Kyungsoo goes back to whatever he was doing with Jongin's socks and sweaters and sad young heart.  
  
"Should I go get extra gloves?" Kyungsoo wonders out loud. "I wonder if mine will fit you. One of yours has a tear on the knuckle."  
  
Jongin just can't  _help_ himself.  
  
"Soo," he says in a soft, miserable voice, "I love you."  
  
Kyungsoo's hands still over a scarf. Mi-noona had knitted them a matching pair: blue for him, red for Jongin. Kyungsoo's fingers twitch over the fringe before he dives back into his rolling. "I love you, too, Jongin-ah." His voice is clear and steady.  
  
Jongin's breath hurtles out of him in a whoosh. "You--"  
  
"Of course I do," Kyungsoo says. He puts the scarf in Jongin's case. "I know we don't say it, but you're the closest person in the world to me."  
  
Jongin's heart races--it gallops, it  _sprints_ \--and he can't quite catch up.  
  
"Honestly," and Kyungsoo smiles at him, "I'll feel just as lonely being away from you as I will Minah." His chuckle is mirthless. "And she's my girlfriend."  
  
The world screeches to an asphalt-smoking halt. Jongin is winded by now, wheezing internally, a casualty of emotional whiplash. Behind his ribs, where that fresh, fizzy feeling had once sprung, something has been demolished.  
  
"But I'll come see you," Kyungsoo is saying in the background. "And you can come see me, too."  
  
"Soo," Jongin ventures, ignoring the warning signs that blink red in his vision, pressing onwards with blindness and bravery, "that's not what I meant."  
  
Kyungsoo blinks. His eyebrows are dark and thick, and they knit together in confusion. "Pardon? That's not what you--"  
  
"You heard what I said," Jongin admonishes him, low and desperate. "Don't you understand?"  
  
They stare at each other for a good minute. Jongin finally catches his breath, pulling it in as silently as he can, even though it hitches.  
  
"I'm sorry," Kyungsoo tells him eventually. His eyes are wide with panic; his mouth lush, and painfully pretty. "I don't."  
  
Jongin's sigh is a deep chasm. It's not made of breath, but of years and years of hidden longing.  
  
"Never mind," he mumbles.  
  
He turns, straight-faced, taking the leather jacket off the chair and draping it over the exact same place, uselessly. He feels two eyes boring into his back, but he's too tired to talk now.  
  
  
  
  
Kyungsoo comes to airport the next day. Jongin spends the ride over listening to Ahjumma and Ahjussi go over their entire week's itinerary. He sits in the front seat next to Chauffeur Lee with his earphones plugged in, even though he doesn't have any music playing. He feigns exhaustion when Ahjumma checks on him, and he doesn't speak to Kyungsoo.  
  
When they say goodbye at the departure gate, Kyungsoo pulls him into a rare embrace.  
  
"I don't understand," Kyungsoo whispers. His voice is broken. "Are you angry about something?"  
  
Jongin can't stand it. "No," he mumbles into Kyungsoo's shoulder. "It's nothing." When he inhales, the scent of fresh soap pervades his nostrils. He clears his throat. "I gotta go, Soo."  
  
They disengage. Kyungsoo drags the back of his hand over his nose. "Take care of yourself," he tells Jongin, and he still sounds upset. "Let me know when you get there."  
  
"I will."  
  
"I'll call you all the time."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Kyungsoo swallows like there's something jagged in his throat. "Don't stay mad at me." His gaze is baffled. "You've never been like this before."  
  
"I'm not mad at you," Jongin insists with tenderness, even as he avoids eye contact. Ahjumma and Ahjussi call for him, waving goodbye to their youngest son. "I gotta go," Jongin says a second time. "I'll text you when we land, Soo. Promise."  
  
He spins on his heel, striding towards the smiling faces of his foster parents. Just a few more steps, three, two, one, and he'll finally have the space he so desperately needs.  
  
Kyungsoo yells, "I'll miss you, Jongin!"  
  
The sound rings clear as a bell through the public space. People are looking over their shoulders. Schoolgirls out of uniform giggle, clinging to the hands of their parents.  
  
It's so unlike him.  
  
So Jongin turns around.  
  
"You heard me," Kyungsoo mutters. His face is beet red, and his lips are pulled tight. Then he turns away and climbs back into the car with Chauffeur Lee.  
  
  
  
  
_Paris, present day_  
  
"What was it like," Joonymun asks, "when you first got to Paris?" An espresso steams on the table in front of him, its perfume strong and roasted.  
  
"It was still warm," Jongin muses, taking a sip from his own cup. "Late summer, breezing into autumn. It was beautiful."  
  
They're having coffee and cake in the middle of the day, somewhere in the Spanish Quarter. Jongin would ask why Joonmyun has so much free time this week, but he already knows the answer.  
  
Besides, Joonymun heads the Paris branch of his family's investment firm now. He can take a break whenever he wants. He's just never abused the privilege until late.  
  
The older man smiles. "Made an impression, huh?"  
  
"You could say that."  
  
"Everything you dreamed it would be?"  
  
Jongin places his coffee back on its coaster. "Maybe? I was terribly homesick for the first few weeks, so I couldn't really soak it all in. First time on my own, in a foreign country. and all that." His finger skims over the lip of the cup. "And I was dealing with something back then. Growing pains." He smiles absently. "You know how it is at that age--everything else seems to pale in comparison."  
  
"I don't know if I remember that far back," Joonmyun teases, to make Jongin smile. "But go on."  
  
"At the end of the day, it's still Paris," Jongin explains. "Whenever I'd feel lonely, I'd climb out onto my terrace and look out at the city. The rows of marble buildings and the wet streets in the early morning. The cafes with the painted awnings, the smell of coffee and baking bread, the life on the sidewalks. And in the distance, the Eiffel Tower, all lit up at night. I'd see all that, and I'd think to myself, 'If there's a cure for my aches, it's got to be this.'"  
  
The tail-end of that embarrasses him somewhat, so Jongin ducks his head, clearing his throat.  
  
"Sorry to get nostalgic on you," he quips. "Must be the growing pains again."  
  
The expression on Joonmyun's face mellows, as though he's had a little wine and not a shot of caffeine. "And here I was, thinking you were this perfectly well-adjusted kid, without a care in the world."  
  
"I'm well-adjusted," Jongin replies, with the crooked grin he keeps on reserve. "Just not perfect."  
  
"Close enough," Joonmyun says, almost to himself. "When do you get back?"  
  
"To Seoul?"  
  
"To Paris." The older man smiles indulgently. Sunshine and white teeth between small lips. "You must be itching to start your new life with The Ballet."  
  
"I am," Jongin admits without a second thought. "They're expecting me in September. And I'm gonna relax really, really hard this summer, because after that, I'll be working myself to the bone."  
  
"Sounds just about right." Joonmyun's mouth quirks. "So three months of vacation before you join the labor force."  
  
Jongin laughs openly, tongue sticking out. "Yep. What to do, what to do..."  
  
"Oh, the joys of youth," Joonmyun drawls, sipping from his espresso. "You could learn to paint, learn to play golf, learn a new dance." Jongin laughs at that. "You could read all the books I've been telling you to read. And you could compile all those songs you told me you would compile for me...last year."  
  
"Sorry," is the sheepish response.  
  
"You could take a trip." Joonmyun brings his finger to the corner of his mouth and wipes off a spot of coffee. "You could fly out to New York, see Kyungsoo."  
  
There's a question in his words, which Jongin hears loud and clear. He folds in his lips to wet them.  
  
"Hyung," he ventures, "why do you always bring him up whenever we're having a conversation?"  
  
"Can't you guess?" Joonmyun bounces back, and it throws Jongin for a loop. Joonmyun's voice is tempered, yet brimming with purpose.  
  
There it is, in his eyes--the swirl of determination and longing, the obvious answer that Jongin has always struggled to ignore, even though he knows he should hear it out, if only once.  
  
He wasn't ready for this today.  
  
"Forget it," he says, flustered.  
  
But Joonmyun's ready, it seems. He's bolder now than he was two days ago, when they had steak near his office and Jongin had been the one who'd broached the subject.  
  
"I always bring him up," Joonmyun perseveres, gentle as can be, "because I'm trying to see if you're still in love with him."  
  
They've been doing the same will-he-won't-he shuffle for months. Maybe even longer, if Jongin is being honest with himself. It was only a matter of time before someone put a stop to the dance.  
  
"I'm sorry," Jongin says helplessly, because he doesn't know what else to say. "Let's change the subject."  
  
"Jongin..." And Joonmyun sounds so, so kind when he asks, " _Are_ you still in love with him?"  
  
The dancer's throat bobs. He can feel his lips part, and the way his brows slope.  
  
Joonymun's chuckle is low and resigned. "You are, aren't you? Otherwise you wouldn't be so evasive with me."  
  
"Hyung." Jongin attempts a smile, but Joonmyun looks sad now, so he lets it fade.  
  
"It's me, kid," Joonmyun murmurs. "It's  _me_ , Joonmyun, that hyung you've known since you were twelve." Now  _he's_  trying to smile, and it's awful, and Jongin hates it because he knows it's his fault. "Can't you tell me yes or no?"  
  
He's asking something else, too. Jongin can tell, because he can read Joonmyun as well as Joonymun can read him.  
  
_Are you still in love with him? Yes or no.  
  
Does anyone else have a chance? Yes or no.  
  
Will you have me? Yes or no._  
  
Joonmyun's watching him closely, melting eyes and vulnerable mouth.  
  
So Jongin takes a deep breath.  
  
  
  
  
_Two years ago_  
  
By the time Kyungsoo gets to visit Paris, Jongin is a second-year at the Conservatoire and head-over-heels for the city. He's been home for Christmas and spring break, and seen Kyungsoo those times with an embrace waiting in his arms.  
  
The distance helps. He's tucked away his feelings like he did his winter coats--a sign of the changing seasons.  
  
Of course, the moment he sees Kyungsoo--the heart-shaped smile, the narrow, boyish shoulders--everything blossoms, quick as the grass after a spring shower. And when he goes back to Paris, back to the graceful grind of ballet and the tranquil hours spent alone on his terrace, Jongin has to start from scratch.  
  
Kyungsoo emails all the time--stories about New York and Columbia and of how certain events in a day remind him of something he and Jongin had done together as kids. He texts Jongin, too, almost every day. Notes about albums to listen to and the latest episodes of the shows they both watch and funny celebrity gossip he's read about online. Jongin writes him back each time with fondness and this old, worn ache he no longer considers pain.  
  
Kyungsoo doesn't mention Minah, so Jongin doesn't ask.  
  
It's a sunny morning when the dancer opens the door to his flat in Le Marais to find Kyungsoo standing in the corridor with a suitcase.  
  
"Surprise," he says with a glint in his eye. "And  _bonjour_."  
  
" _Bonjour,_ " Jongin laughs. His hair is tossed-and-turned from sleep, and the corners of his eyes are a little crusty. The twinge in his chest swells right on schedule. "Come in, Soo."  
  
Jongin still can't believe he's here, not even when Kyungsoo toes off his shoes by the umbrella stand near the door and leaves his thin cardigan draped over the back of Jongin's sofa. Pieces of evidence, personal and mundane, reminiscent of home, sweet home.  
  
They spend most of the day indoors, catching up on each other's lives and haphazardly piecing together a meal with what Jongin's got in his pantry.  
  
"There's a lot of Spam in here," Kyungsoo says, clucking his tongue as he opens up a can. "I thought you said you were eating well?"  
  
Jongin takes it from him with a grin. "I've been dining out a lot with Joonmyun-hyung since he got here," he explains. "That's what I meant. The Spam is just for emergencies."  
  
"Like the zombie apocalypse?" Kyungsoo's words are dry. "You've got enough to feed the whole of Gangnam in here."  
  
"Oh, please," Jongin shoots back in a jovial tone. "Like you Gangnam kids eat Spam."  
  
"Don't talk like you haven't lived with me all your life," Kyungsoo replies. The corners of his mouth are dancing. " _Gangnam kids._ " The snort he lets out is one of disbelief.  
  
Jongin pokes out his tongue and goes back to slicing the luncheon meat.  
  
"How long has hyung been in Paris now?" Kyungsoo asks. He's rummaging through Jongin's drawers for dinnerware.  
  
"Since the fall, when I emailed you about it." Jongin coats a pan with oil. "So he's been around for, I dunno, maybe seven months? Eight?"  
  
Kyungsoo hums. He's got two bowls, two plates, and two sets of utensils in his hands. He sets them down over the placemats on Jongin's little breakfast table. "And you see him all the time?"  
  
"Kind of," Jongin replies. "We eat together a few times a week. And sometimes we take trips on the weekends."  
  
"Trips to where?" Kyungsoo grabs two glasses filled with ice from the kitchen counter, where Jongin has placed them for him. "Out of town?"  
  
"Yeah, not too often though." Jongin busies himself with the frying. "We've been to Provence and to Lille. And we took the train to London for a long weekend."  
  
"Wow." Kyungsoo turns his back to set the table. "You didn't tell me about England."  
  
"You were swamped with midterms that time," Jongin tells him, craning his neck to catch the other's reaction. Kyungsoo makes a sound of understanding. His back is still turned. "I didn't think you'd want to know I was--"  
  
"Off gallivanting with Joonmyun-hyung while I passed out over my books?" Kyungsoo chuckles. "You didn't have to filter yourself, Jongin. I'd still want to know what you were up to."  
  
His tone is off; a chord missing a note. Jongin can't quite place the emotion behind it. "Well...so, yeah, we went to London," he carries on. Business as usual. "It rained the whole time, but it was fun."  
  
"That's good." Kyungsoo glances back at him. His face bears a smile, but it looks nothing like him. "Maybe next time we'll go together."  
  
"Sure," Jongin says swiftly. "Of course. That'd be great."  
  
"You've been traveling with hyung," Kyungsoo continues, "but I'm your best friend, and we've never done anything like that, just the two of us." He blinks slowly, and Jongin knows that if he were close enough, he'd see the spidery shadows cast on Kyungoo's cheeks by his long, soft lashes. "No fair."  
  
Kyungsoo's not-quite-smile is tinged with reproof.  
  
Jongin's chest squeezes. "You just flew to Paris to see me." He quashes a gulp. "We're doing something together right now. Just the two of us."  
  
"So hang out with me all week," Kyungsoo bargains. "Don't make me share you with hyung like I always had to back home."  
  
It's so cute. So confusing, too. Jongin scratches his nape, directing his gaze to Kyungsoo's hand, hooked into the hem of Kyungsoo's shirt. He pokes his lips out, like he's just been reprimanded, even though Kyungsoo's used a voice of velvet. "I can do that."  
  
The other boy nods, seeming pleased. Mollified is more like it. Then he brushes off his hands and excuses himself to the restroom. Jongin's left in his kitchenette with a sizzling pan, the smell of crisping Spam, and a hodgepodge of unresolved questions.  
  
The most pressing question is also the oldest one.  
  
_Why does he care about things that don't even matter?_  
  
Jongin's been asking himself that since they were much younger, before he was in this deep.  
  
In the end, he chalks it up to a bad habit of reading too much into nothing much at all, the way he always has when it comes to Kyungsoo.  
  
When his guest gets back from the toilet, it's with the grave, unreadable expression that Jongin has known all his life, and already come to miss.  
  
"Let's eat," Kyungsoo says. "Zombie apocalypse-style."  
  
Jongin goes as far as to roll his eyes--an act, of course.  
  
When Kyungsoo's not looking, he types out an apologetic SMS to Joonymun, explaining why he can't make brunch and dinner and coffee at their usual spots for the next couple of days.  
  
  
  
  
Kyungsoo stays for a week, like he said he would.  
  
They only talk about the girl on his last day, when Jongin takes him to his spot by the Grand Bassin Octagonal. There's a lull between them that stretches on far too long to be comfortable, so Jongin cuts through the stale air himself.  
  
"How's Minah?" he asks cheerfully, even though he has to force the words out. "Still happy at Hongdae?"  
  
"She likes it there," Kyungsoo offers up after a beat. He tugs at the neck of his shirt. "But she's not very happy with me right now."  
  
"Why not?" Jongin inclines his head. "Did you have a fight?"  
  
"She hates me," Kyungsoo informs him, "because I broke up with her a few days ago, for reasons she doesn't understand."  
  
The admission hits Jongin quick and hard, like a bucket of ice water. "What?" His tongue feels like putty. "Soo. You  _broke up_  with Minah?"  
  
"I broke up with Minah," Kyungsoo echoes. "Over Skype, after two hours of regular conversation, while I was in New York and she was in Seoul. And then I booked a roundtrip ticket to Paris," he shrugs, "and here I am."  
  
"Why are you only telling me this now?" Jongin demands. His heart is slamming against his ribcage. Dampness blooms over his upper lip. "If you'd told me when you first arrived--"  
  
"What would you have done?" Kyungsoo interrupts. "Convinced me to take it back? Patch things up with her?" The look he sends Jongin is meaningful. "I know you never really liked her, Jongin."  
  
The dancer is taken aback. "I don't know what gave you that impression," he says, taking care not to sound defensive.  
  
"But you didn't," Kyungsoo insists in a voice like still water. "I could tell you never liked her, and I don't think I was ever in love with her, if I'm being bare-bones-honest with myself. I only thought I was, because she was so easy to love."  
  
Jongin is going to reason with him, explain that Kyungsoo has it all wrong, that he likes Minah, that he just doesn't know her that well, that--  
  
"You get it, don't you?" Kyungsoo presses on. "That's why you get along with hyung, even though he's older than us. He's lovable." His expression doesn't change. "Just like his sister."  
  
"You get along with him, too," Jongin protests. "What are you talking about? You hung out with him just as much as I did back home."  
  
"I didn't want to be replaced," is the response he gets, and the impatience in it is palpable. Kyungsoo exhales, rubbing the sole of his sneaker over the pebbled ground.  
  
Jongin can feel the blood pool in his cheeks. He's embarrassed, and baffled, and also flattered, in a childish way. "Why did you break up with Minah?"  
  
The answer is short and sweet. "We didn't fit." Kyungsoo's lower lip wedges itself between his teeth. When he blinks, his bangs catch on his lashes. "After a while, I couldn't remember why we were together."  
  
"Are you...okay?" The words leave Jongin's mouth with such delicacy, like they're made of glass filaments.  
  
"That's why I came to Paris," Kyungsoo mutters. "So you could fix me." He doesn't smile when he turns to Jongin, but his eyes are warm, like the palm he places atop Jongin's head. "I think it worked, Jongin-ah."  
  
Somewhere in the park, old music is playing. It drifts over to where they're seated--tinny sounds of the violin and accordion and the mournful flirtation of Édith Piaf's voice. Jongin breathes it in. He nods a yes when Kyungsoo murmurs that he likes this song, taking his hand away. He lets the bittersweetness of the moment wash over them both, and he even manages a smile when Kyungsoo hums a few bars in perfect pitch.  
  
Here, in the middle of the most romantic city in the world, sitting with the person who'd spurned him without even knowing it, and whom he continues to long for, anyway, like schoolchildren long for summer, Jongin realizes with powerful finality that he will never love anybody else.  
  
  
  
  
_One year ago_  
  
Jongin never does get to visit New York. Following his first trip, Kyungsoo flies to Paris every chance he gets.  
  
The fourth time he's in town, Jongin invites Joonmyun to one of their excursions.  
  
They're milling around the Île de la Cité, because Kyungsoo wants to see the Notre Dame cathedral. They take pictures in the sun, posing with the façade in pairs. Then Joonmyun says he'll catch up to them inside, because he has to take a call from work.  
  
"We'll wait with you, hyung," Jongin offers, but Joonmyun waves him away.  
  
"It's fine, Jongin-ah," he says, with his perfect white smile. He's already got his phone pressed to his ear. "Show Kyungsoo around like you showed me before." He lifts his eyebrows, as if to say,  _Go on, kid._  So Jongin goes.  
  
Inside the cathedral, Kyungsoo tips his head all the way back to see the arched vaulting over the nave. His eyes rest the longest on the grand organ, like he's never seen anything like it before. The stained glass window behind the instrument glows in multicolor--a hallowed, rose-shaped masterpiece.  
  
Jongin observes him with reverence. "Takes your breath away, doesn't it?"  
  
"Yes," Kyungsoo replies. "So much history in one place."  
  
"That's exactly what Joonmyun-hyung said." Jongin smiles at the memory, and how similar their reactions had been in the presence of grandeur. "Funny."  
  
"He's in love with you," Kyungsoo says easily, like it's trivia from a guidebook. "You know that, don't you?"  
  
Jongin reels. "Where did  _that_ come from?" He shakes his head adamantly. "It's not like that at all."  
  
Kyungsoo bends his neck, easing a crick out of it. "You don't see how he looks at you."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Jongin stares at him. "How does he look at me?"  
  
Kyungsoo ignores his gaze. "Like you belong to him, or something." He shifts his weight on his feet. "And like he belongs to you."  
  
"Soo." Jongin is incredulous at this point. "That's the most farfetched thing I've heard this year." And yet his stomach flutters, just a touch, when he imagines Kyungsoo watching him, if only by transitivity.  
  
"You don't have to believe me if you don't want to," Kyungsoo murmurs. He's walked a bit further down, towards the altar. The back of his neck looks a little rosy--but it might just be the lighting in the cathedral. "It's true, though, Jongin. It's so obvious."  
  
There's nothing else Jongin can do but shuffle after him awkwardly, keeping pace. He doesn't know how his face looks at this moment, or where he stands with the two people most constant in his life.  
  
  
  
  
"Are you seeing anyone now?" Kyungsoo asks when they're back in Jongin's flat.  
  
Joonymun, like the daylight, has gone after dinner--lips stained with wine and eyes trained softly on Jongin's face when he said goodnight.  
  
"No." Jongin hands Kyungsoo a beer from the fridge. He wipes the condensation off his own bottle with the edge of his shirt. "You'd know if I was."  
  
"Nothing ever happened with Soojung?" The other's tone takes a playful turn. "She used to have the biggest thing for you when we were kids."  
  
"You're so weird today," Jongin groans, and it snaps a grin over Kyungsoo's smooth face. "You know the answer to that, too."  
  
"I thought you might work it out someday." Kyungsoo takes a swig. "She still liked you up until we graduated, you know. Minah told me, back then, that Soojung was always kind of  _waiting_."  
  
"I don't believe that," Jongin responds, tapping a fingernail against the neck of his bottle. "She was with Sehun by then."  
  
"Yeah," Kyungsoo says, with a tilt to his brow, "and yet."  
  
Jongin nurses his beer noncommittally.  
  
"Why _didn't_  you like her?" Kyungsoo presses him. "I'd always wondered. I mean, I know you had that secret crush you never told anyone about," and Jongin's fingers tighten around his Heineken, "but Soojung was practically perfect."  
  
He doesn't stop there. "Beautiful, smart--she looks the exact same way today, by the way." Here, a sidelong glance in Jongin's direction. "She was into the same things you were. Danced like a dream.  _And_  she kissed you first." Kyungsoo huffs, licking traces of amber liquid off his lips. "She even defended you from those bullies, remember? When we first got to middle school?"  
  
"I remember," Jongin manages to say, "and that's why we always stayed good friends."  
  
"So why couldn't you give it a try?"  
  
The only person who knows the answer to that is Joonmyun, because he and Jongin have always been in the same boat. Jongin didn't even have to spell it out; Joonmyun had recognized it in him long ago.  
  
_Different._  
  
"I've always known," Jongin says, slow but sure, "that I'd never end up with a girl."  
  
It feels like forever before that sinks in. Comprehension flickers in dark irises.  
  
"Jongin?" Kyungsoo's beer almost slips from his grasp. He deposits it on the kitchen counter, wiping his hands on his jeans and looking fairly stunned. "What are you saying?"  
  
"I like men," Jongin tells him, point-blank, even though what he really means is, _I only like you._  His breathing is shallow. "Do you understand now?"  
  
"Oh, my god," Kyungsoo says, and then he's latching onto Jongin, caging him in thin arms. His grip is hot and vicelike. "I didn't know," he mutters into Jongin's shoulder, and Jongin's fingers tremble when he rests them on the small of Kyungsoo's back. "Why do you always,  _always_ keep things from me?"  
  
"I didn't know how to tell you," Jongin shakes out. "I didn't want anything to change. Not that it changes anything," he adds quickly. "I'm still me."  
  
"Of course you are," Kyungsoo assures him--and his lips are suddenly pressed against Jongin's cheek. "You're Jongin," he murmurs, like that day Jongin had seen ballet for the first time, and Kyungsoo had watched with him from the backseat of their family car.  
  
The sensation is akin to falling down a flight of stairs: Jongin's knees buckling underneath him and his body offering no resistance.  
  
He can pinpoint the exact moment when Kyungsoo becomes conscious of the kiss--because cool, collected Kyungsoo flushes a violent shade of red.  
  
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, loosening his embrace. "Did I make you uncomfortable?"  
  
"Not at all," Jongin whispers, heart thrashing wildly. They're still touching.  
  
"I feel so protective over you." It sounds like a confession. "I always have. Now, especially."  
  
"I know," Jongin replies. "You've been taking care of me since my mom died. The whole family has--but you in particular."  
  
For that he receives a guarded smile. "You noticed?"  
  
_It's just to return the favor,_  Jongin convinces himself. _Just a keepsake. Just this once._ Fighting all good reason, he leans in to peck Kyungsoo on the cheek, too.  
  
Then he takes a step back, out of the other's personal space.  
  
_Just this once, Jongin,_ he reminds himself. But he still waits to see if Kyungsoo might place his fingertips over the spot he'd just kissed...  
  
He doesn't.  
  
_He's not like you._  
  
Instead, Kyungsoo smiles at him, sweet and small and serious. Jongin smiles back. They don't discuss it.  
  
For the rest of the visit, the futon Jongin had laid out for him remains untouched. That night and the two after it, Kyungsoo climbs into his bed like they're little kids at a sleepover. He doesn't offer an explanation--only shifts in place until he finds a good spot and waits for Jongin to put out the light.  
  
Jongin can't decide if he feels lighter or heavier, now that he has one less secret to keep, but one more reason to fall in love with Kyungsoo all over again.


	3. Chapter 3

_Two months ago_  
  
The fight is about Joonmyun, and it's a terrible one.  
  
This time, Kyungsoo is only in town for a night. He's been in London for the past few days, attending a seminar with some other Columbia undergrads. Half of today has been reserved for a tour of the main sites, before they all fly back to the States--but Kyungsoo decides to take the train to Paris instead.  
  
"Did Jongin ever tell you we went to London one weekend?" Joonmyun asks over dinner.  
  
"Yes, hyung," Kyungsoo replies. He spears a fusilli noodle with his fork and carefully places it into his mouth. "I heard it rained."  
  
"We're gonna go together next time," Jongin explains, pouring himself some water from a decanter. He refills Kyungsoo's glass, too, and the visitor murmurs his thanks.  
  
"I see." Joonmyun's tone is observational. "That should be something." When Jongin places the decanter back on its woven doily, he catches Joonmyun looking at him.  
  
They'd been running errands together when Kyungsoo called, already outside the flat in Le Marais. Another surprise. Jongin had been disconcerted, ready to drop everything and rush home. But Joonmyun had taken the phone out of his hand and calmly given Kyungsoo directions to a bistro in the same arondissement, where they would meet him.  
  
It makes Jongin skittish, having the two of them in such close quarters. He's not sure why this quaint Italian restaurant feels booby-trapped.  
  
"I told Soo about our trips to the countryside, too," he adds, not sure if he's helping or not.  
  
"Oh, yes." Joonmyun turns his attention to Kyungsoo. "We might squeeze in a visit to Cannes before this guy graduates." He cocks his head in Jongin's direction, maintaining eye contact with their guest. "Wanna come?"  
  
"I don't think I can." Kyungsoo sips his water. There's a slice of lemon floating in it. "I'll be studying for finals by then, hyung."  
  
_Ah,_  Joonmyun mouths, shrugging his acceptance. It can't be helped. He looks to Jongin for support, and while the expression on his face is guileless, it also puts forth the question,  _What next?_  
  
Jongin chews on the inside of his cheek. He doesn't recall the conversation being this stilted back when they all lived next door to one other. Then again, he's starting to doubt if any of them remember things the same way. It's the unreliable nature of shared memory--each person absorbing minute details, chancing upon stolen moments, and coming away with unspoken truths the others simply did not.  
  
Kyungsoo wipes his mouth on his napkin. "Besides," he says, letting the square of linen fall back into his lap, "I wouldn't want to intrude."  
  
The tightness in his face eases somewhat when both Jongin and Joonmyun dispute him. But his grin remains flat and devoid of humor, and it soon disappears behind a long draught of merlot.  
  
The meal winds down too slowly for Jongin, who only wants to usher Kyungsoo back to Le Marais, into the hush of his flat. But Joonmyun keeps ordering things off the menu--delicacies with foreign names for all three of them to share, a different red to pair with each rich plate. And while Jongin is grateful (and stuffed, and a little hot under the collar), Joonmyun's only prolonging the most uncomfortable dinner they've ever had.  
  
"Do you eat like this all the time?" Kyungsoo asks in the middle of the dessert course. His lips are darker in the center, where they've come in contact (repeatedly) with his wine glass.  
  
"Not quite this much," Jongin replies, carefully drawing the alcohol away and replacing it with water.  
  
"You said you dine out with hyung a couple times a week," Kyungsoo asserts, as though it's just the two of them in the restaurant and Joonymun isn't seated right across the table. "You guys still do that?" His voice is peculiar--a little too high, a touch too casual.  
  
"Um, yeah?" Jongin's eyes dart in the older man's direction, then back to Kyungsoo. "We need to eat." His laugh sounds feeble, even to him.  
  
"I think hyung likes to eat with you specifically," Kyungsoo says. He takes his fingers off the sweating water glass and swipes them across his lips. "Take you out. Wine and dine you." His cheeks and forehead are a pale crimson when he finally addresses Joonmyun. "Isn't that right, hyung?  
  
The look Joonmyun levels at him is probing. "Pretty much," he replies, his age showing in his composure. "Jongin's a good dongsaeng, and very good company." He punctuates this with a confident smile, which is meant to loop Jongin into the conversation, and which the dancer can't seem to reciprocate.  
  
"Dongsaeng," Kyungsoo repeats. There's something scornful about it, and it immediately puts Jongin on edge. "I've never heard you use that word, hyung."  
  
He's bringing his wine back to his lips when Jongin stops him. "Soo," he says, "you've had enough."  
  
"I'm fine, Jongin."  
  
"You're drunk," the other replies. But Kyungsoo's not even looking at him anymore.  
  
"I should've called before I took the train from London." He barks out a laugh, and it's brittle, breathy. His words are starting to bleed into each other. "I feel like you two were--are--on some sort of date."  
  
"You're  _drunk_ , Soo," Jongin says again. He tamps down a flare of frustration and sends a loaded glance Joonmyun's way. "Let's get the bill, please, hyung?"  
  
Joonmyun's already on it, dependable to a fault. "I'll take care of this," the elder says, putting up a hand when his words meet with resistance. "You should take Kyungsoo home. Let him sleep it off. He still has a flight to catch in the morning."  
  
"I can hear you," Kyungsoo says, much too loud, glassy eyes glued to the stem of his glass, "and I'm  _not_ drunk."  
  
Under the table, Jongin places a hand on his knee to shush him. He dips his head low, so as to catch Kyungsoo's eye.  
  
But the latter fixates on the dregs of wine pooling ruby in his glass. He refuses to give in. The muscles in his jaw work, clenching and unclenching under the skin. When Jongin tells Joonmyun thank you, taking leave for them both and promising to text when they're back at the apartment, Kyungsoo pushes back his chair and wobbles to his feet. He doesn't bother with a goodbye.  
  
  
  
  
"Slow down," Jongin warns. "You'll hurt yourself."  
  
Kyungsoo is brisk-walking ahead, leaving Jongin to tail him. It's clear just how much he's had to drink by the sway in his gait. A streetlamp catches him on the shoulder as he rounds a corner. He grunts in pain, bringing up one arm to half-hug the other, rubbing at the sore spot. But he doesn't stop moving, and he pays Jongin no mind.  
  
"Soo," Jongin perseveres. "Slow  _down_." He strides forth, hauling Kyungsoo to a stop by the sleeve of his shirt. "The streets in this district are really run down. You're going to trip over one of these things." He kicks at the edge of a brick protruding from the street. "See?"  
  
Soundlessly, Kyungsoo stumbles forward, the fabric of his shirt slipping out of Jongin's grasp.  
  
There is a pinch in Jongin's gut. His lips twitch. "Kyungsoo. Come on." And he curls his fingers into the same long sleeve.  
  
This time, Kyungsoo wrenches his arm away. "Let me be, Jongin," he snaps, to the other's complete surprise. "I don't need you to take care of me."  
  
He's glaring now, but it isn't just annoyance Jongin sees in those wide eyes. It's resentment and frustration, and a bewildered sort of fear.  
  
"What's your problem?" Jongin shoots back, running out of patience himself. "Why are you being so difficult?"  
  
Kyungsoo laughs in his face. It cracks like a whip, and his eyes harden into points. "You're one to talk."  
  
"Me?" Jongin's eyebrows shoot up defensively. " _I'm_  being difficult?" The slow, deliberate exhale is meant to regulate his tone. "You're the one who was sullen all throughout dinner, and who left the table without so much as a glance in hyung's direction."  
  
"And you're the one leading him on," Kyungsoo retorts, lips stained red, like his bloodshot eyes. "It's disgusting to watch."  
  
He might as well have taken a baseball bat to Jongin's stomach--once, twice, ten times--because the force with which that hits him is debilitating. Jongin's mouth parts, the sudden pain sitting heavy on his tongue, in his throat. He can feel his heart bleeding.  
  
"You expect me to believe you don't notice? Please," Kyungsoo scoffs, leaning against a lamppost to stay upright. His bangs have begun to plaster against his sweaty forehead. "I've known you all my life. Know you inside out."  
  
Redness seeps through his pale skin from neck to hairline, and his breathing comes out labored. He's  _wasted._  But even as Kyungsoo slurs his words, they manage to hit their target, again and again.  
  
"The way he looks at you, Jongin." His mouth sets in a drunken sneer. "Must be hard to resist."  
  
The last molecule of air leaves Jongin's lungs. This is not his Kyungsoo. This Kyungsoo is relentless, vengeful, and bitter, spitting out his words like a jealous lover.  
  
"Guess I know your type now," Kyungsoo says. "Successful golden boy." His careless tone is so far-removed from the grave child Jongin first fell in love with. "But hyung's pushing thirty now, so it's...what? Rich older guy?"  
  
The air between them reeks of alcohol. Jongin feels something inside him give.  
  
"Fuck you." His voice is deathly quiet, fingernails digging shallow graves into his tender palms. "You don't know  _anything_ about me."  
  
And it's like a switch has been turned off. Kyungsoo freezes in place, expression stricken.  
  
"What do you care if he looks at me a certain way? Talks to me a certain way?  _Likes_ me a certain way?" Jongin barrels on. "So what if he does? That has  _nothing_ to do with you."  
  
Anger is a trap with sharp teeth, snapping closed over his heart.  "I don't have to explain myself to you," Jongin mutters. "But hyung's never told me he loves me, and he's never made me feel uncomfortable or pressured or obligated--and until he does, if he  _ever_ does, I'm going to keep acting the way I always have around him, because I care about him like he was my own family."  
  
"Jongin," Kyungsoo says quickly, Adam's apple bobbing, "Jongin, I didn't mean it--"  
  
But Jongin's had enough for one night. He shakes his head forcefully, fighting the wetness threatening at the corners of his eyes. "How could you even  _say_ that to me?" It hurts when he swallows, his throat completely dry. "I know that, that we're different--"  
  
"I didn't mean it," Kyungsoo whispers, taking a shaky step forward. "We're not different, we're the same. We're exactly the same, Jongin.  _Please_ ," he begs. "I'm drunk and talking stupid, and I'm out of mind because--"  
  
Jongin cuts him off. "You only notice the way people look at me," he mutters, lowering his eyes. "You never notice the way people look at  _you_."  
  
"What people?" Kyungsoo asks, coiling his fingers around Jongin's wrist. "Jongin, listen..."  
  
There's a rumble on the street--a cab approaching. It slows down solicitously. The driver raises his eyebrows at Jongin through the windshield. Jongin knows how rare that is at midnight, on a Monday, in Paris.  
  
He pulls his arm away. "I'm going home." He reaches for the handle of the passenger door. "Find your own way back. You know where I keep my spare key."  
  
He leaves Kyungsoo standing in the street, the color draining from his face. The cab pulls away from the sidewalk, and Jongin slumps down in the backseat, feeling battered and bruised.  
  
  
  
  
He's still awake when the door to his bedroom creaks open. The mattress dips under his side. The breath that fans over his cheek smells like toothpaste, not wine.  
  
Jongin's still smarting from earlier, but he's glad Kyungsoo's made it home in one piece.  
  
"Soo?"  
  
"I messed up," a chastened voice responds.  
  
"It was the wine talking," Jongin mumbles. "I forgive you." It's true. He has. Hours ago, in the cab ride back to Le Marais, as he watched the lights of the city shimmer on the surface of the Seine.  
  
"You shouldn't," Kyungsoo says. "I said awful things. You'll remember now, every time you see me."  
  
"I forgive you," Jongin says again, putting conviction in his tone, because he doesn't want to turn over and have to look Kyungsoo in the eye. "I'll forget all about it by morning."  
  
"Do you promise, Jongin?" The earnestness has returned to Kyungsoo's voice, just the way Jongin remembers it.  
  
It's not naiveté, but a weary sort of loyalty, that makes him say, "I promise."  
  
They stay like that--Jongin curled on his side, Kyungsoo mirroring his position, a space between one's back and the other's chest.  
  
Jongin shuts his eyes, letting sleep take him.  
  
"I'm sorry," Kyungsoo whispers, finally, the guilt in his voice rooted miles deep.  
  
  
  
  
He says it again, in the morning, in a little note Jongin finds on his nightstand under a glass of water. Kyungsoo's gone by then, having left for the airport before he woke up.  
  
_I'm sorry,_  the slip of paper reads, front to back.  
  
_I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_  
  
  
  
  
The call comes two months later, when Jongin is at lunch with Joonmyun.  
  
"Hello?" he says into the receiver, his heart beating a mile a minute.  
  
The girls who pass him on the street look over their shoulders, curiosity piqued by the foreign language (and the beautiful boy speaking it). Jongin doesn't notice, because he's waited so long to hear this voice again.  
  
"Jongin," Kyungsoo murmurs, gentle and unsure. "Hey...it's me."  
  
  
  
  
_Present day_  
  
The coffee in both their cups has gone cold. There's an unusually strong wind today that sifts through Jongin's hair and cools the warm pink suffusing his cheeks.  
  
"Are you mad, hyung?" he asks quietly.  
  
Joonmyun isn't as quick to smile as he usually is. He tugs at his earlobe, measuring his words. "No, Jongin-ah," he replies after some time. His mouth is small and round, like a rosebud. "Just disappointed."  
  
"I'm really sorry." Jongin reaches across the table to squeeze the back of his hand. He wants to shield Joonmyun from this, even though he knows it's impossible. "I wish I could feel the same way."  
  
Joonmyun flips his palm, and Jongin lets him hold his hand. "But there's no one else."  
  
The younger stays tight-lipped. His slow nod says it all.  
  
"Even if he never comes around?" Joonmyun's eyes are soft under the canopy of his lashes.  
  
Jongin sighs. It's been ten years. "Even then."  
  
The smile Joonmyun permits him is sweet, albeit more subdued than Jongin is used to. He looks eighteen again, like the day Jongin met him. "All right, kid."  
  
He slips his hand out of Jongin's grasp and beckons to a server for their bill.  
  
"On second thought, Jongin-ah," the older man says, "would you mind giving me those songs before you leave for Seoul?" Joonmyun's lips curl into the faintest grin. "God, I'm going to be so bored by the time you get back to Paris. Pray I don't die of old age." Here, he lets out a melodious laugh, and he leans over to muss Jongin's hair. "This better be an upbeat playlist, kid."  
  
"I'll make sure of it, hyung," Jongin replies, feeling warm and whole. A sense of relief floods his insides. When the cheque arrives, he reaches for it immediately. "It's on me again, okay?"  
  
"You bet it is," Joonmyun quips, settling back into his chair. "I think it's a small price to pay, don't you?" Then he winks, and something tells Jongin they're going to be okay.  
  
  
  
  
The whole family flies in the night before commencement. It's late in the evening by the time they settle into their hotel. Ahjumma calls Jongin to say they'll see him at the ceremony.  
  
"Oh, and Kyungsoo wants to talk to you, darling," she tacks on at the end of their brief exchange. "Let me put him on."  
  
Jongin doesn't even get to give her a reply.  
  
"You're still up?" a familiar voice asks.  _Hiii, Jonginnie,_  the noonas coo in the background. The initial voice remains levelled. "It's late."  
  
"Hi, Soo." Jongin toys with the cord of his landline phone. "I'll see you tomorrow?"  
  
"Definitely. Looking worse for wear." Jongin hears the sound of a door closing, and the other end grows quiet. "How've you been?"  
  
It's a toss-up between small talk and the truth, so Jongin chooses what he's always been better at. "I've missed you."  
  
Kyungsoo's breath is a caress against the receiver. "Me, too," he admits. No hesitation. "I'm so sorry about what I said, and how I acted, and everything else. I..." His voice breaks. "I hate that we left things that way. But I was too ashamed to call, or even write. I dunno," and Jongin imagines him gnawing on his lip, "I dunno why I'm just bringing this up now, when I should've addressed it in our last conversation."  
  
"We're fine, Soo," Jongin assures him. "We were fine two months ago, just like I told you. And I was really happy you called this week."  
  
It's cautious, verging on coy, the way Kyungsoo says, "I was afraid you'd hang up on me."  
  
"Nah." Jongin smirks. It's getting easier to talk to him again. "You were calling long distance. That would've been rude."  
  
The chuckle is more polite than anything, but it breaks the ice. Kyungsoo spends the next half-hour telling him about the flight from New York to Paris and updating him on the things they didn't get to discuss last time. How he's decided to do another year at Columbia to turn that music minor into a second major. How Tao and Song Qian have broken up (which Jongin knew about) and how Sehun has finally convinced Soojung to move in with him after graduation (which makes Jongin smile).  
  
It's just a half-hour, and then they say goodnight. But it's in the span of those thirty minutes that Jongin makes his first adult decision--because he is an adult now, as scary as it seems.  
  
This thing with Kyungsoo, he decides,  _whatever_ it is--and even if this is all it's going to be, for the rest of his life-- _this_ is enough for him. He'll take it any day over no Kyungsoo at all.  
  
  
  
  
It goes by so fast. One day, Jongin is a wide-eyed teenager, fresh off the boat from South Korea, trying to navigate his way around the campus in loose-fitting dance clothes without speaking a word of French. The next thing he knows, he's standing in the confettied aftermath of his commencement ceremony; his teachers are kissing him on both cheeks, European-style; he's taking obligatory portraits with Ahjumma and Ahjussi and selfies with the older kids and big family photos with Kyungsoo by his side, and everybody is saying  _congratulations, Jongin-ah, congratulations, you did it!_  
  
Somewhere in the chaos, he spots Joonmyun, who hands him a plump, innocuous bouquet of sunflowers. Joonmyun says congratulations, too, as Jongin pulls him into a bear hug.  
  
"Thank you, hyung!" he yells above the din. "I'm glad you came."  
  
He catches Kyungsoo staring at them, over Joonmyun's shoulder. He ducks his head immediately when he realizes Jongin has noticed.  
  
Then Seungsoo-hyung is clapping his old schoolmate Joonmyun on the back and drawing him away to catch up. That clears a straight path from where Jongin is standing to where Kyungsoo is waiting. Pressed grown-up suit, floppy boyish hair.  
  
"I'm sorry I didn't bring you flowers," Kyungsoo says when Jongin sidles up to him. "There wasn't enough time this morning, and I didn't know where the nearest florist was, or that Mom and Dad had ordered theirs in advance..."  
  
"They're just flowers," Jongin tells him plainly. His parents' bouquet is with Ji-noona, somewhere. "And anyway, you're here." The noon sun hits the tops of Kyungsoo's cheeks just right, so his skin glows champagne. Jongin can see his reflection in the other's black wayfarers.  "That's all that matters."  
  
The whole family goes out to lunch--fancy place along the Champs-Élysées, private room, bellinis. The twins can't stop fussing over Jongin, how grown up "their baby" looks, and how handsome. Seungsoo has him pledge season tickets to the Paris Opera Ballet, because his new girlfriend is wild about dance. Ahjussi says, "I'm proud of you, son," as Ahjumma looks on radiantly from the other end of the table.  
  
And all the while, under the table, Kyungsoo's thigh presses gently against Jongin's, as he smiles and sips his sparkling water and laughs at whatever makes Jongin laugh, saying as little as possible.  
  
  
  
  
Jongin decides to spend his last few nights in the flat in Le Marais, despite Ahjumma's insistence that he crash with them at the hotel. He tells her he isn't quite packed up yet, but it's more a childish case of separation anxiety. He'll be coming back, of course, after a long, glorious summer in Seoul. But Jongin has always been a creature of habit.  
  
When the moon rises on his commencement day, he takes his leave. He promises his family tours upon tours of the city for the remainder of their visit. Tomorrow, they'll start with the Eiffel Tower.  
  
Kyungsoo is waiting for him in the lobby.  
  
"Are you coming with me?" Jongin asks, picking at the knot of his tie and offering a smile like he would a handshake.  
  
"Yes," is the succinct reply. Kyungsoo adjusts the strap of his weekend bag, where it's twisted on his shoulder. "Let's go."  
  
Kyungsoo fits into his apartment like Jongin fits into his spot in the Tuileries. He leaves his shoes by the umbrella stand near the door, his suit jacket over the back of the sofa, and his toothbrush in the extra glass on Jongin's bathroom counter. He unlocks the door to the terrace with the tricky push-and-jiggle that Jongin taught him two years ago, when he first showed up. He uses the blue mugs to steep their tea in, because the white ones are chipped on the rims. He remembers to pull the tea bag out of Jongin's quickly, because Jongin doesn't like it too dark.  
  
They stay out on the terrace for a while, soaking in the skyline like stars on land. They talk of easy, unimportant things, and later on, of dreams.  
  
_It doesn't matter if they don't love you,_  Jongin internalizes, watching Kyungsoo's lips curve over vowels and consonants.  _When you see Paris with someone you love, it's twice as beautiful._  
  
At some point, he ventures back inside to replenish their teas. Kyungsoo follows him as far as the portal to the terrace.  
  
The water that remains in Jongin's stainless steel kettle is still hot. Steam escapes when he lifts the lid to check. He portions it out between their two mugs, careful not to scald himself.  
  
"I like this," Kyungsoo says from his post.  
  
Jongin tosses a grin over his shoulder. "It's nice, being at home. We spent so much time out of the apartment every time you came to visit."  
  
"I like it when it's just us two," Kyungsoo tells him. "It's like before, when we were younger. Remember how we used to pick all the grass in the garden, because we thought they were weeds?"  
  
Jongin frees a pair of tea bags from their paper sheaths. He drops one into each mug. "Oh, god. I  _do_ remember that." He lets the bag in Kyungsoo's mug rest, but bounces the one in his. "We were so dumb."  
  
"And how about that time," Kyungsoo says, "when I taught you to how play 'Chopsticks' on the piano?"  
  
"Of course." Jongin deposits his tea bag in the sink. "It's the only thing I can play to this day."  
  
"And do you remember what you told me," Kyungsoo presses on, voice gone suddenly soft, "the night before you left for Paris?"  
  
The whole world stops.  
  
A shiver steals up Jongin's spine, setting his nerves on fire. He blinks at the water in their mugs--amber in Kyungsoo's, pale yellow in his. He doesn't let himself breathe.  
  
"You told me you loved me."  
  
Jongin can only hear the quiet, ragged sound of his own breathing. "Yes," he murmurs, "I did."  
  
"I didn't get it then," Kyungsoo says, no louder than a whisper. "Maybe I didn't want to. But I worked it out soon enough."  
  
Feet as heavy as clay, chest as full as a lake, Jongin turns around.  
  
Kyungsoo's face is pale, and he's holding himself rigid. He looks terrified. But there's no turning back now. "Don't you love me anymore, Jongin?"  
  
The dancer's exhale leaves him in a whimper.  
  
"I know you love me," Kyungsoo says, desperately, adamantly. "I  _know_ you do. There's no way," he shakes his head, " _no way,_  that you can love hyung more than you love me." His eyes seem even larger now than they were when he was a boy, shining with hope and fear. "I don't know what I'll do if you--"  
  
"You're so _stubborn,_ " Jongin cuts in, and he's crossing the room in mere strides. "You never  _listen._ "  
  
In a moment, his arms close around Kyungsoo's slim body. He pulls Kyungsoo against him--so, so tightly--curving the other's back from the force of his embrace. Arms snake around his neck, locking them even closer together. Kyungsoo hooks his chin over Jongin's shoulder, and the dancer catches his fresh soap smell as he leans in to empty his heart.  
  
"I love you." He tattoos the words against Kyungsoo's neck. A reminder, and a promise. "There's no one else for me."  
  
It feels natural when Kyungsoo's fingers thread into his hair, because Jongin has imagined it just like this. It feels natural when Kyungsoo tightens his grip, using it as leverage to bring Jongin's face down to his. And when Kyungsoo tilts up his chin, and brushes the tip of his nose against Jongin's, and parts his lips, so they can press together in a long, slow, memory-wiping kiss, it feels more than natural.  
  
It's like coming home.  
  
  
  
  
The night seems to stretch on forever, like the smooth, fair skin of Kyungsoo's body when Jongin finally gets him naked.  
  
"Take off your clothes," Kyungsoo appeals, slipping his hand down the back of Jongin's slacks to rest over his ass.  
  
Jongin kisses him in response. "Open your mouth," he says, and Kyungsoo lets their tongues slide against each other, warm and moist. "Have you ever kissed a guy before?"  
  
"No," Kyungsoo murmurs into his mouth. "I've only ever wanted you."  
  
There is a spike of pleasure in Jongin's gut. "I've been waiting for you to come to me," he admits shakily. "Never thought you would." He bites his tongue, embarrassed by his own candor, and Kyungsoo pecks his lips, like he understands perfectly.  
  
Then he flips them both over, so he's straddling Jongin's thighs. He runs his hands underneath Jongin's shirt, pulling the fabric with him, palms skating hot over Jongin's abs. The dancer props up his arms obediently, so Kyungsoo can get the shirt off him. Then his fingers are tugging Jongin's jeans open and sliding them down along with his underwear. The pit of Jongin's stomach coils with arousal when he thinks of the state they're in right now--nude and kissing frantically in his bed.  
  
Kyungsoo lays right on top of him. "How many lovers have you had?" Their hips align. "You're always so secretive with me." He shifts his weight, clearly a novice, trying to get comfortable. It's completely by accident when he grinds against Jongin, and the gasps they let out are simultaneous.  
  
"Jongin," Kyungsoo breathes, and his cheeks are so pink, "how many?"  
  
"We haven't even gotten started," Jongin teases, "and already you're jealous?" Kyungsoo kisses him hard to shut him up.  
  
He gets lost in it, a little bit, like he's forgotten his own question. When Jongin breaks away--his hands on Kyungsoo's ass, and Kyungsoo's lips dropping to his throat--he's panting.  
  
"None," Jongin admits, and Kyungsoo bites the dip of his neck. "But I can show you what I do when I think about you."  
  
He flips them over a second time, so he's on top once again. Kyungsoo laughs openly, because it's starting to feel like a competition.  
  
The joke is short-lived, if anything. All the mirth seeps out of Kyungsoo's expression, mellowing into tenderness and desire, the moment Jongin tells him, "I want to make you feel good."  
  
  
  
  
The bright green swathe of the Champs de Mars and the city beyond it is almost dizzying from this height. Jongin wishes he'd come to see the view sooner, instead of being such a snob about the Eiffel Tower's endless lines.  
  
"You mean to say you've never been here before?" Kyungsoo asks in disbelief.  
  
Behind him, Seungsoo is taking a photo of their parents. Ahjumma's got a silk scarf knotted at her throat, and Ahjussi's wearing a jaunty panama hat--but their striped couple tees are unmistakeable.  
  
"I mean..." Jongin casts about for an excuse. "I've seen it countless times, Soo. Picnics down there on the grass, the  _best_ background shots from Trocadéro--"  
  
"But you've never gone up here." Kyungsoo's smirk is playful. "You've lived here four years, Jongin-ah, and you never gave in to your inner tourist."  
  
"I know, right?" Jongin relents cutely. Kyungsoo pokes his cheek. "Who knew I was missing the best view in town?"  
  
The sudden click of a camera sounds much too close for comfort. The pair of them turn to look. Seungsoo snaps another candid right before he escapes, his cheerful face marked by a sage kind of knowing.  
  
It's just innocent flirting, but Kyungsoo colors like they've been caught in bed, right after Jongin's made him come.  
  
Jongin hesitates for a second, drawing away so there's more space between them. Instantly, Kyungsoo tugs him back. He laces their fingers together.  
  
"Don't do that," he says lightly, and Jongin smiles again. "It's just me. I'm not used to...this."  
  
"This?" Jongin strokes his thumb against Kyungsoo's knuckle.  
  
"Being in love with you," the other explains, "and not having to hide it."  
  
"I can hardly believe you are," Jongin murmurs. Now he's blushing, too.  
  
"Will you come visit me in New York?" Kyungsoo asks, squeezing Jongin's hand. "Or will you make me work for it?"  
  
"I don't know," Jongin jests, eyes curving happily. "It took you ten years to notice me. Isn't it payback time?"  
  
Kyungsoo sneaks a kiss onto his cheek, right next to his ear. It so simple, but it makes Jongin feel so loved.  
  
"We'll work it out, won't we?" Kyungsoo gazes at their linked hands. He shuffles his feet like a nervous child. "We'll have the summer together, in Seoul, and then after, when I go back to school, and you start with The Ballet..." He looks to Jongin for reassurance.  
  
"We'll be okay," is the answer he gets. Jongin brings up their hands so he can plant a kiss on the back of Kyungsoo's. "We love each other."  
  
  
  
  
_Seoul, eight years later_  
  
It is considered a mystery in the dance world--a minor scandal--when Kim Jongin, principal at the Paris Opera Ballet and the first Asian to ever hold the title, decides not to renew his contract at the tender age of twenty-nine.  
  
But when, a year later, Jongin debuts his own company, it is received with rapt attention and almost universal acclaim. This select troupe, based in Seoul, and accepting dancers from all over the world, is poised to change the face of modern ballet.  
  
They explode onto the scene with  _The Black Swan,_  a scintillating adaptation of _Swan Lake_. It's set to an original score by the elusive Korean composer, D.O.--seen regularly in the company of ballet star Kim Jongin, and rumored to be a chaebol (or so the entertainment shows say).  
  
The savvy refer to the company as the "ABA," short for Areum Ballet Academy. Areum, after Jongin's mother.  
  
Ahjumma and Ahjussi are among his primary investors. Upon his request, the money they'd put away long ago, on behalf of his late mother, is funnelled into a scholarship fund for talented candidates of lesser means. Jongin sees to the selection process himself, because he'd once been a lost child with so much potential and only so far to go.  
  
It's late on a Friday afternoon when Jongin informs his first choice--an achingly fluid dancer named Taemin--that he has a future with the ABA. The look of shining delight that beams off the teenager's face is enough to make his day.  
  
Jongin's in high spirits when he walks out of the building ( _his_ building, and he still can't wrap his head around the fact sometimes). The kid, Taemin, has just sent him a text message.  
  
_Thank you so much for meeting with me and accepting me into the company,_  he gushes.  _I promise I won't ever let you down. You won't regret it! ^^_  
  
Jongin can feel just how wide his smile is. The pleasure of making someone deserving happy prickles over his skin, warm as the sun. Jongin's still got a lot of dance left in him--ten years' worth, maybe, if his legs hold out. But it satisfies him, knowing that when he finally decides to bow out, he has something to pass on.  
  
There's a midnight blue Mercedes parked by the curb. Its windows are tinted a sophisticated oyster, but Jongin doesn't need to see in to know who owns it. One of the windows rolls down when he pulls up to the passenger seat.  
  
"Surprise," Kyungsoo murmurs, his smile petal-soft. He looks handsome in the dark sunglasses that sheath his eyes--but then again, he always looks handsome to Jongin. "Thought you might need a ride."  
  
"Hi," Jongin replies, already melting inside. The years have not diminished his feelings for this man. "How'd you know what time I was getting off?"  
  
"I asked Chauffeur Lee." Kyungsoo reaches over to open the door for him. "In you go."  
  
Jongin climbs into the front seat with a chuckle. He fastens his seatbelt, and Kyungsoo pecks him on the mouth while he's doing it. Jongin presses in eagerly, and they kiss each other hello a few more times before Kyungsoo draws back.  
  
He sighs. "You have to stop letting Mom talk you into these once-a-week family sleepovers."  
  
Jongin thumbs at the corner of his mouth, where it's still a little damp, and Kyungsoo playfully bites the tip. "Why?" the dancer asks, as he runs his thumb over Kyungsoo lips. "I love hanging out with the family."  
  
"I do, too," Kyungsoo says, "but it's so much harder to get you alone when we stay over there."  
  
Jongin laughs. "As compared to?"  
  
"Our apartment?" Kyungsoo slides his shades down his nose, bugging out his eyes. "Or your old flat in Paris, or hotel rooms when we travel, or that men's room in New York--"  
  
"That was  _one_ time," Jongin interjects, heat swiftly spreading across his cheeks.  
  
"Still easier to have you to myself in a public restroom than in my parents' house," Kyungsoo grumbles. "They all want a piece of you--Ji-Noona, Mi-Noona, even Seungsoo-hyung--and you just end up ignoring me."  
  
In the midst of being mortified, Jongin manages to find him adorable.  
  
"Soo." He cups Kyungsoo's nape. "You do realize how lucky we are."  
  
There's no mistaking his meaning. When they'd told the family they were together, the reaction had been one of love and acceptance--and relief, if Jongin had read his foster parents' expressions right. They were probably as worried about Kyungsoo as he was, back in those days.  
  
"Fine, you win," Kyungsoo acquiesces. He leans into Jongin's touch, and then a little further in. "But just so you know..."  
  
He whispers darkly into Jongin's ear, and everything spins for a second, because Jongin is as in love with him as ever.  
  
"I missed you today." Kyungsoo's voice is low and grave. "Meet me in my room later?" Jongin's lashes flutter. "Please, Jongin-ah."  
  
The dancer turns his face to slot their lips together.  
  
"I will." They can barely keep their hands off each other when they're alone. This kind of kissing is Jongin's favorite--languid and deep, like a slow dance. "Just wait for me."  
  
The brassy clang of a phone inside the quiet car comes off rude--almost deliberate. They both groan when they hear it (too loud, too fast, too soon). A final, lingering brush of lips, and they break apart reluctantly.  
  
Kyungsoo slides his phone out of his jacket pocket. He takes one look at the caller ID before handing the device to Jongin. His smile is resigned, but also affectionate.  
  
"Love you," he sighs. He puts the car into drive. "Let's do this."  
  
Jongin strokes a knuckle along his jawline. "Love you, too." His voice cuts clear through the persistent ringtone.  
  
Kyungsoo keeps his eyes on the road, but Jongin doesn't miss their telltale upward curve underneath those sunglasses.  
  
He picks up the call.  
  
"Hello? Hi, it's Jongin. Yup, we're on the way. See you in a bit, Omoni."

**Author's Note:**

> Storytime: Kaisoo has always been my OTP, but in their golden era, Xiuhan came in at a close second. The day before I posted this, Luhan left — and I had to take a 6-month break from writing to get over it T_T
> 
> Anyway, this story is probably in my top two favorite fics that I've written. Hope you liked it!


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